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|*"Gleanings From The Gullies" 

Price $1.00 

Published and For Sale By 


Hia>v River, N. G. 

'.. X,, % 

"Picked Up Here and There" 


From The Gullies" 

IPublished and For Sale By 


JHa^w River, N. C. 

J. C. STUTTS and father G. D. STUTTS 

G. D. Stutts was born in Moore County, N. C, March 22, 1842, and 
moved to Alamance in 1886. He was the author of ' ' Picked Up Here and 
There," which had a large sale in Alamance and surrounding counties. 
He died April 30, 1918. 


"Picked Up Here and There'* and "Gleanings from the Gullies" 
is composed of poetry, wit, and useful information, part of which was 
fathered by G. D. Stutts, of Alamance County for publication in book 
form, but who died before perfecting the same. His son, J. C. Stutts, 
has decided to finish the work as a memorial to his father and herewith 
presents the work to the public, feeling that it is worthy of its ap- 
p roval. 


U^ ' ' 

''Picked up Here and There'' and ^ ' Gleanings from the Gullies.'' 5. 


Well, wife, I've found the model church. 

And worshiped there, today; 
It made me think of good old times, 

Before my hair was gray, 
The meeting-house was finer built 

Than they were years ago, 
But then, I found when I went in. 

It was not built for show. 

The sexton did not sit me down 

Away back by the door, 
He knew that I was old and deaf. 

And saw that I was poor. 
He must have been- a Christian man, 

He led me boldly through 
The crowded aisle of that grand church 

To find a pleasant pew. 

I wish you^I heard that singing, wife, 

It had the old-time ring; 
The preacher said, with trumpet voice, 

''Let all the people sing!" 
''Old Coronation" was the tune. 

The music upward rolled. 
Until I thought the angel-choir 

Struck all their harps of gold. ^ 

My deafness seemed to melt away, 

My spirit caught the fire; 
I joined my feeble, trembling voice 

With that melodious choir, 
And sang as in my youthful days, 

"Let angels prostrate fall; 
Bring forth the royal diadem 

And crown him Lord of all!" 

The preacher! well, I can't just tell 

All that preacher said, 
I know it wasn't written — 

I know it wasn't read; 
He hadn't time to read it, for 

The lightning of his eye 
Went flashing 'long from pew to pew 

Nor passed a sinner by. 

'Twas not a flow'ry sermon, wife, 

But simple Gospel truth, 
It fitted humble men, like me; 

It suited hopeful youth; 
To win immortal souls to Christ 

The earnest preacher tried; 
He talked not of himself or creed, 

But Jesus, crucified. 

'How swift the golden moments flew, 

Within this holy place! 
How brightly beamed the light of heaven^ 

From every happy face! 
Again I longed for that sweet time 

When friend shall meet with friend, 
"Where congregations ne'er break up, 

And Sabbaths have no end." 

I hope to meet that minister — 

That congregation, too — 
In that dear home beyond the stars 

That shine from heaven's blue; 
I doubt not I'll remember, 

Beyond life's evening gray. 
That happy hour of worship 

In the model church, today. 

I tell you, wife, it did me good 

To sing that hymn once more 
I felt like some wrecked mariner 

Who gets a glimpse of shore, 
I almost want to lay aside 
This weather-beaten form, 
And anchor in the blessed port 
Forever from the storm! 

Dear wife, the toil will soon be o'er, 

The vict'ry soon be won; 
The shining land is just ahead, 

Our race is almost run. 
We're nearing Canaan's happy shore,^ 

Our home so bright and fair, 
Thank God, we'll never sin again, 

"There'll be no sorrow there!" 



Picked up Here and There.'' 


It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden lived whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee: 
And this maiden she lived with no other 

Than to love, and be loved by me. 

I was a child and she was a child. 

In this kingdom by the sea; 
But we loved with a love that was more 
than love, 
I and Annabel Lee — 
"With a love that the winged seraphs of 
Coveted her and me. 

-And this was the reason that long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of cloud-land, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee; 
So that her high-born kinsman came 

And bore her away from me. 
To shut her up in a sepulchre, 

In the kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me, 
Yes! that was the reason (as all men 
In this kingdom by the sea; 
That the wind came out of the cloud by 
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

But our love it was stronger by far than 
the love 

Of those who were older than we; 

Of many far wiser than we; 
And neither the angels in heaven above, 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

For the moon never beams without bring- 
ing me dreams 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
And the stars never rise but I feel the 
bright eyes 
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by 

the side 
Of mj daring, my life, and my bride 
In her sepulchre there by the sea, 
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 



On a dark stormy night, as the train rat- 
tled on, 
All the passengers had gone to bed, 
Except one young man with a babe on his 
Who sat there with a bowed-down head. 
The innocent one commenced crying just 
As though its poor heart would break. 
One angry man said, ''Make that child 
stop its noise. 
For you're keeping all of us awake." 

"Put it out," said another; ''don't keep 
it in here, 
"We've paid for our berths and want 
But never a word said the man with the 
As he fondled it close to his breast. 

"Where is its mother? Go, take it to 
This a lady then softly said, 
"I wish that I could," was the man's sad 
"But she's dead in the coach ahead." 
Every eye filled with tears when his story- 
he told, 
Of a wife who was faithful and true, 
He told how he'd saved up his earnings 
for years 
Just to build up a home for two. 


'' Gleanings from the Gullies. 


How, when Heaven had sent them this 
sweet little babe, 
Their youag happy 'lives were blessed. 
Iji tears he broke down when he mention- 
ed her name, 
Aad in teai's tried to tell them the rest. 

Every woman arose to assist with the 
There were mothers and wives on that 
train, ^ 

And soon w^s the little one sleeping in 
With no thoughts of sorrow and pain. 

Next morn ' at a station he bade all good- 

'*God bless you," he softly said. 
Each one had a story to tell in their home. 

Of the baggage coach ahead. 

While the train rolled onward a husband 
sat in tears, 

Thinking of the happiness of just a few 
short years, 

For baby's face brings pictures of a cher- 
ished hope that's dead; 

Hut baby's cries can't wake her in the 
baggage coach ahead. 


Or, Jesus Paid the Fare. 
This anecdote, in rhyme, has a history, 
the half of which I cannot tell. It was 
picked up by an old man in my district, 
much worn; he read, it and with God's 
blessing it did him real good. He read it 
to a dying woman, and through it she was 
led to the Savior It came into my hands, 
and I had it printed, and 142,000 copies 
have already been circulated. Many pleas- 
ant letters have been sent me, telling glad 
tidings of its usefulness. ^'Not by might, 
nor by power, but by .my Spirit, saith the 
liord of Hosts." 


One summer's evening, ere the sun went 

When city men were hastening from the 

To reach their Vionies — some near at hand, 

some far — 
By snorting train, by omnibus or ear, 
To be beyond the reach of city's din — 
A tram-car stopped, a little girl got in: 
A cheery looking girl, scarce four years 

Although not shy, her manners were not 

But all alone! one scarce could understand. 
She held a little bundle in her hand — 
A tiny handkerchief with corners tied, 
But which did not some bread and butter 

hide ; 
A satin scarf, so natty and so neat. 
Was o'er her shoulders thrown. She took 

her seat, 
And laid her bundle underneath her arm. 
And smiling prettily, but yet so calm, 
She to the porter said, ''May I lie here?" 
He answered instantly, ''O, yes, my dear." 
And there she seemed inclined to make her 

stay, .- . 

While once again the tram went on its 

The tall conductor — over six feet high, 
Now scanned the travelers with a business 

But in that eye was something kind and 

That took the notice of the little child. 
A little after, and the man went round, 
And soon was heard the old familiar sotind 
Of gathering pence, and clipping tickets 

too — 
The tram was full and he had much to do, 
''Your fare, my little girl," at length 

he said. 
She looked a moment, shook her little 
^ head— 

"My fare is paid, and Jesus paid for me?^' 



Picked up Here and There. ^' 

He looked bewildered — all the people 

^'1 didn't know; and who is Jesus, child?" 
''Why, don't you know He once for sin- 
ners died, 
For little children, and for men beside, 
To make us good, and wash us from our 

Is this His railway I am traveling in?" 
"Don't think it is! I want your fare, 

you know. ' ' 
"I told you Jesus paid it long ago: 
My mother told me just before she died, 
That Jesus paid when He was crucified; 
That at the cross His railway did begin, 
Which took poor sinners from a world of 

My mother said His home was grand and 

I want to go and see my mother there — 
I want to go to heaven, where Jesus lives. 
Won't you go too? My mother said he 

A loving welcome — -shall we not be late? 

let us go before He shuts the gate; 
He bids us little children come to Him." 
The poor conductor's eyes felt rather dim. 
He knew not why — he fumbled at his coat. 
And felt a substance rising in his throat. 
The people listened to the little child, 
Some were in tears — the roughest only 

And some one whispered as they looked 

"Out of the mouth of babes the Lord is 

"I am a pilgrim," said the little thing; 
"I'm going to heaven. My mother used 

to sing 
To me of Jesus and His Father's love; 
Told me to meet her in His home above. 
And so today when aunt went out to tea. 
And looking out I could not father see, 

1 got my bundle — kissed my litle kit, % 
(I am so hungry — wont you have a bit?") 

And got my hat, and then I left my borne,. 
A little pilgrim up to heaven to roam; 
And then your carriage stopped, and T 
could see 

You looked so kind. I saw you beckon me,. 
I thought you must belong to Jesus' train. 
And are you just going home to heiven 

again ? " 
The poor conductor only shook Ms head; 
Tears in his eyes — the power of speech had 

Had conscience by her prattle roused his- 

And struck upon the fountain of his tears; 
And made his thoughts in sad confusion 

At last he said, "Once I''d a little girl,. 
I loved her much; she was my little pet. 
And with great fondness I remember yet 
How much she loved me. But one day she 

"She's gone to heaven," the little girl re- 
"She's gone to Jeusus — Jesus paid her 

Oh, dear conductor, won 't you meet her 

The poor conductor now broke fairly down; 
He could have borne the hardest look or 

But no one laughed; but many sitting hy 
Beheld the scene with sympathetic eye. 
He kissed the child, for she his heart had 

"I am so sleepy," said the little one, 
"If you will let me, I'll lie here and wait 
Until your carriage comes to Jesus' gate; 
Be sure you wake me up, and pull my- 

And at the gate give just one little knockl 
And you'll see Jesus there!" The strong 

man wept 
I could but think as from the car I stept. 
How oft a little one has found the road. 
The narrow, pathway to that, blest abode; 


Gleanings from the Gullies 


Through faith in Christ has read its title 

While learned men remain in doubt and 

A little child the Lord oft uses such 
To break or bend, the stoutest heart to 

Then by His Spirit bids the conflict cease, 
And once forever enter into peace. 
And then along the road the news we bear, 
We're going to heaven — that Jesus paid 

our fare! 


Telling the tired heart the song 
It sang in years gone by. 

Beautiful hands are always found 
Where the heaviest duties lie. 


Beautiful hands are not always white, 

Shapely and fair to see; 
But are often cast in an humble mold. 

And are brown as brown can be. 

Useful hands that are ready to take 

Life's duties one by one; 
Hands that are willing to reap and glean 

Till the reaper's work is done. 

Lifting the burdens we find so hard 
To bear through life's long day; 

Brushing the dead leaves sorrow drops 
From out the tangled way. 

Gentle hands, between whose palms 

The weary face may lie; 
Beautiful hands, that softly tell 

For sorrow ''the reason why." 

Hands whose touch remains for years; 

Dear hands though folded low, 
Whose magic thrill within our souls 

Whispers ''We loved you so." 


(By Margaret Floyd.) 
"Hush my, babe, lie still and slumber 

Sang a mother sweet and low, 
As she gently rocked the cradle. 

In the twilight, to and fro. 

'MIoiy angels guard the sleeping, 

Keep my childro.i from harm and sin, 

As he grows to manhood's stature. 
Fair without and pure within." 

So we mothers fain would keep them, 
Knowing not that which is best, 

Only try to do our duty 
And trust Jesus for the rest. 

In his garden walks the Master 

In the tender evening light. 
Sees the violets and the roses 

And the lilies, tall and white. 

Pauses long beside the lilies. 
Snowy flowers he loves the best. 
Then he gathers for his bosom 
One more fair than all the rest. 

So he sees our little children, 
Pure and fair as lilies white. 

And he takes them to his bosom, 
They are "precious in his sight." 

Warm, human hands that once we held 

So close within our own; 
Though clasped, so cold, their silent clay 

Still speaks in love's low tone. * 

Let us cease our bitter weeping 
For the babies gone away. 

We shall find them in his keeping 
In the land of "cloudless day." 



Picked lip Here and There." 


Backward, turn backward, O time, in your 

And make me a man again, .iust for 

tonight ; 
Let me shake off these vile rags that I 

Cleanse me from all this foul stain that 

I bear; 
Oh let me stand where I stood long ago. 
Freed from these sorrows, unknown to this 

Freed from a life that is cursing my soul, 
Unto death while the years of eternity 


Yet the tide rushes on, this wild flight 

of the years. 
And the days only deepen my sorrows and 

I call, but no answer comes back to me 

Naught but an echo as weak as my vow. 
For 'neath the sad cypress tree, now in 

the sod. 
Lies the body whose soul has gone back 

to its God, 
And out of the silence no child voices 

As in days long ago in my sweet, happy 


Backward, turn backward, oh fast-flowing 

Would that my life could prove only a 

Let me forget the black sins of the past; 
Let me undo all my folly so vast; 
Let me live over the life that is gone; 
Bring back the dark, wasted years that 

are flown ; 
Backward, turn backward, O time, in your 

And make me a man again, just for 


Back, Yes, turn backward, ye swift-roll- 
ing years! 
Why does your memory bring forth these 

hot tears? 
Why comes this vision of life lost in sin? 
Why am I thinking of what might have 

Where is my home, once so happy and 

Where is that face whose own presence 

was light? 
Where are the children who climbed on 

my knee? 
Back, flowing tide! bring them once more 

to me! 

Backward? Nay, Time ri(,shes onward 

and on; 
'Tis the dream that comes back of the 

days that are gone, 
I yielded my strength when I could have 

been strong; 
I would fly, but alas! I had lingered too 

The hell hound had seized me — my will 

was not mine. 
Destruction was born in the sparkling of 

So, in weakness, I totter through gloom 

to the grave, 
A sovereign in birth, but in dying — a 


— Texas Advocate. 


For those who believe in the fatality 
of the number 13 the American qiilarter doL 
lar is about the most unlucky article they 
can carry. On the said coin there are 13 
stars, 13 letters in the scroll which the 
eagle holds in its claws, 13 feathers are 
in its tail, there are 13 parallel lines on 
the shield, 13 horizontal stripes, 13 arrow- 
heads and 13 letters in the words ''quar- 
ter dollar." 


Gleanings from the Gullies y 



He was small for his age worked in a 
signal box and booked the trains. One 
day the men were chafing him about being 
so small. One of them said: "You will 
never amount to much. You will never 
be able to pull these levers; you are too 
small. ' ' 

The little fellow looked at them. 

'^Well, " he said, '*I can do something 
that none of you can do." 

"Ah, What is that?" they all cried. 

"I don't know that I ought to tell you." 

They were all anxious to know, and 
urged him to tell them what he could do 
that none of them were able to do. Said 
one of the men: "What is it, boy?" 

' '■ I can keep from swearing and drink- 
ing, " replied the little fellow. 

There were blushes on the men's faces, 
and they didn't seem anxious for any 
further information on the subject. 


Words and Music by Lyn Udall. 
After the din of the battle roar, just at 

the closing of day, 
Wounded and bleeding upon the field, two 

dying soldiers lay; ^ 

One held a ringlet of thin gray hair, one 

held a lock of brown, 
Bidding each other a last farewell, just 

as the sun went down. 

Chorus — 

One thought of mother, at home alone, 

feeble and old and grey; 
One of the sweetheart, he left in town, 

happy and young and gay. 
One kissed a ringlet of thin grey hair, one 

kissed a lock of brown. 
Bidding farewell to the Stars and Stripes, 

just as the sun went down. 

One knew the joy of a mothers love, one 

of a sweetheart fair, 
Thinking of home, they lay side by side, 

breathing a farewell pray'r; 
One for his mother so old and grey, one 

for his love in town; 
They closed their eyes to the earth and 

skies, just as the sun went down. 



Where is my wand 'ring boy tonight — 
The boy of my tenderest care. 

The boy that was once my joy and light, 
The child of my love and prayer? 

Chorus — 

O where is my boy tonight? 

O where is my boy tonight? '^ 

My heart o'er flows, for I love him, he 

O where is my boy tonight? 

Once he was pure as morning dew, 
As he knelt at his mother's knee; 

No face was so bright, no heart more true, 
And none was so sweet as he. 

O could I see you now, my boy, 

As fair as in olden time. 
When pratl:le and smile made home a joy. 

And life was a merry chime! 

Go for my wand 'ring boy tonight; 

Go, search for him where you will; 
But bring him to me with all his blight. 

And tell him I love him still. 


Under a spreading chestnut-tree 
The village smithy stands; 

The smith, a mighty man is he, 
With large and sinewy hands; 

And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 



Picked up Here and There/' 

His hair is crisp, and black and long; 

His face is like the tan; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat — 

He earns whatever he can, 
He looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

\Veek in, week out, from morn till night. 
You can hear his bellows blow; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge. 
With measured beat and slow. 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the flaming forge. 

And hear the bellows roar. 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing floor 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys;; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughters voice. 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mothers voice. 

Singing in Paradise! 
He needs must think of her once more. 

How in the grave she lies; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing. 

Onward through life he goes; 
Each morning sees some task begin, 

Each evening sees it close; 
Something attempted, something done. 

Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. 
For the lesson thou hast taught! 

Thus at the flaming forge of life 
Our fortunes must be wrought; 

Thus on its, sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought! 

— ^Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 


Folks think we factory people 

Are an unimportant set; 
And the reason we are made thus 

We have not found out yet. 


But after we went to work in factories, 

And bosses we had to obey. 
We worked both late and early, 

Drawing very little pay. 


Well w^e confess, we're unimportant 

In one sense of the word, 
For to the trump of earthly fame 

Our names are never heard. 


There are people in the factories 
That are noble, true and kind, 

And underneath their oil clothes 
Beats a heart with loving mind. 


That will divide with those in need 

If we only have one dime, 
We trust the Lord will give it back 

To us some other time. 


We claim no treasures here on earth, y 

In silver, gold, or rank, 
We had rather give to the cause of God 

Than to deposit in a bank. 


And thus it is while at our work. 
When we card, or spin, or weave. 

We try to be contented, 

For we have no time to grieve. 


While the roar of the lapper and slubber, 
And speed and clash of the loom. 

Puts sorrow, care, and pain to flight, 
And dispels a cloud of gloom. 


Gleanings from the Gullies. 




Yes, we all forget our troubles, 

And our trials here below, 
As we listen to our shuttles 

While they rattle to and fro. 
Yes, we watch the busy shuttle. 

As back and forth it speeds. 
And with pleasure watch the cut mark, 

While coming through the reeds. 
Oh, if I was a millionaire. 

Or financially so stout. 
Or could own the whole creation, 

And ride in a fine turnout; 
I could not then rest satisfied, 

Unless I had to go, 
And start my work to running 

At the second whistle blow. 
Then say you don't like factory folks. 

That's sinful brother, I declare; 
If you should reach that heavan above 

You will meet factory people there. 
If we should meet each other. 

Where the crystal water flows. 
We will have no oil on our hands 

Nor lint cotton on our clothes. 

— G. D. STUTTS. 


Bound my Indiana homestead waved the 
In a gloomy distant woodland, clear and 
Oftentimes my thoughts revert to scenes 
of childhood 
Where I first received my lessons na- 
ture's school. 
But one thing there is missing in the pic- 
Without her face it seems so incomplete; 
I long to see my mother in tho doorway 

As she stood there years ago^ her boy 
to greet. 

C horus — 

Oh, the moonlight's there tonight along 
the Wabash, 
From the fields there comes a breath of 
new-mown hay, 
Tlirough the sycamores the candlelights 
are gleaming 
On the banks of the Wabash far away. 

Alany years have passed since I strolled 
by the river. 
Arm in arm with sweetheart Mary by 
my side. 
It was there I tried to tell her that I 
loved her, 
It was there I asked of her to be my 
Many years have passed since I strolled 
through the church-yard, 
She is sleeping there, • my angel Mary 
I loved her but she thought I did not 

mean it ; 
' I'd give my future life if she was only 
here. Chorus. — 


Not long since an old railroad man who 
drifted in church where a revival service 
was going on was asked to lead in prayer. 
He said: 

Oh! Lord, now that I have flagged Thee, 
lift up my feet off the rough road and 
plant them safely on the platform of the 
train of salvation; let me use the safety 
lamp known as prudence, make all the 
couplings on the train with the strong link 
of Thy love, and let my hand-lamp be the 
Pdble, and Heavenly Father, keep all the 
switches that lead off on sidings, especially 
those with a blind end. Oh! Lrord, if it 


Picked up Here and There." 

be Thy pleasure have every semaphore 
light along the line show the white light 
of hope, that I may make the run of life 
without stopping, and Lord give us the 
Ten Commandments for a schedule and 
when I have finished the run on schedule 
time, pulled into the great dark station of 
death, may Thou the Superintendent of 
the Universe, say well done, thou good and 
faithful servant, come and sign the pay- 
roll and receive a check for eternal hap- 
piness. Amen. 


Children, choose it, don 't refuse it, 

'Tis a precious diadem; 
Highly prize it, never despise it, 

For you will need it when you are men. 

Watch and guard it, do not discard it, 
'Tis more precious far than gold, 

Love and cherish, keep and nourish, 
For you will need it when you are old. 

Then endeavor, now and ever, 
Keep this blessed treasure nigh 

Always own it, never leave it, 

For you will need it when you die. 


Passengers Time Table. 

Lv. Disobedient Ave 7:00 a. m. 

Lv. Cigaretteville 7:30 a. m. 

Lv. Secret Sin Tunnel 8:00 a. m. 

Lv. Liars' Cross Eoads 8:05 a. m. 

Lv. Pop (Watering tank) 8:35 a. m. 

Lv. Cider Village 9:00 a. m. 

Lv. Saloonville 9:45 a. m. 

Lv. Tippleton 10:00 a. m. 

Lv. Theater Heights 10:30 a. m. 

Lv. Gambler's Inn 11:00 a. m, 

Lv. Thief (Flag station) 11:40 a. m. 

Lv Drunkards' Tavern 12:00 m. 

One hour for dinner and sight-seeing. 
Lv. Drunkards' Tavern 1:00 p. m. 

Lv. Blasphemers' Furnace ....1:45 p. m. 

Lv. Quarrel Town 2:40 p. m. 

Lv. Murderers' Valley 3:30 p. m. 

Lv. Jail City Landing 4:00 p. m. 

Lv Courthouse Crossing 5:10 p. m. 

30 minutes to make up special train 
to Hangaman's Gap. 

Lv. Poverty Lane 6:00 p. m. 

Lv. Mortgageville 7:00 p. m. 

Lv. Suicide Junction 8:15 p. m. 

Lv. Big Spreetown _..9:45 p. m. 

Lv. Delirium Eapids 11:00 p. m. 

Ar. at Great Lake, or Perdition (outer 
darkness) at midnight. 

''The fearful, and unbelieving, and the 
abominable, and murderers, and whore- 
mongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters and 
THE LAKE, which burneth with fire and 
brimstone; which is the second death." 

Some become weary and fatigued in 
seeing such unexpected scenery, and decide 
to take the Lightning Express at Suicide 
Junction, after which there are no more 
&tops until they reach the Fearful Lake. 

There are no return tickets on this line 
as all trains run in one direction. 

This line is well equipped with sleepers 
for the accommodation of proud, formal 
church members. 

It is an old established line, very often 
called ''The Popular Route." 

Sacred writ recognizes it as the "Broad 
Way, ' ' and ' ' many there be ' ' i^ass over it. 
It also mentions it as a "Way that seem- 
eth right unto a man, but the end thereof 
are the ways of death." 

Thirty days has September, 

April, June and November; 

All the rest have, 

Except February alone, 

Which has but twenty-eight in fine, 

Till leap year gives it twenty-nine. 

'^Gleanings from the Gullies/' 



Southerners, hear your country call you? 
Up! lest worse than death befall you! 
To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie! 
Lo! all the beacon-fires are lighted, 
Let all hearts be now united! 
To arms! to arms! to arms! in Dixie! 
Advance the flag to Dixie! 
Hurrah! hurrah! 

For Dixie's land we'll take our stand, 

To live or die for Dixie! 

To arms! to arms! 
And conquer peace for Dixie! 

Hear the Northern thunders mutter! 
Northern flags in South winds flutter! 

To arms! etc. 
Send them back your fierce defiance! 
Stamp upon the accursed alliance! 

To arms! etc. 
Advance the flag of Dixie! etc. 

Fear no danger! shun no labor! 
Lift up rifle, pike, and sabre! 

To arms! etc. 
Shoulder pressing close to shoulder, 
Let the odds- make each heart bolder! 

To arms! etc. 
Advance the flag of Dixie! etc. 

How the South 's great heart rejoices 
At your cannons ringing voices; 

To arms! etc. 
For faith betrayed and pledges broken, 

To arms! etc. 
Advance the flag of Dixie! etc. 

Strong as lions, swift as eagles, 

Back to their kennels hunt these beagles! 

To arms! etc. 
Cut the unequal bonds asunder! 
Let them hence each other plunder! 

To arms! etc. 
Advance the flag of Dixie! etc. 

Swear upon your country's altar, 
Never to submit or falter; 

To arms! etc. 
Till the spoilers are defeated, 
Till the Lord's work is completed, 

To arms! etc. 
Advance the flag of Dixie! etc. 

Halt not till our Federation 

Secures among earth's powers its station! 

To arms! etc. 
Then at peace, and crowned with glory, 
Hear your children tell the story! 

To arms! etc. 
Advance the flag of Dixie! etc. 

If the loved ones weep in sadness, 
Victory soon shall bring them gladness; 

To arms! etc. 
Exultant pride soon" banish sorrow; 
Smiles chase tears away tomorrow. 

To arms! etc. 
Advance the flag of Dixie! etc. 


Im thinking tonight of my old cottage 
That stands on the brow of the hill. 
Where in life 's early morning I once 
loved to roam, 
But now all is quiet and still. 

Chorus — 

Oh, my old cottage home. 

That stands on the brow of the hill, 
Where in life's early morning I once lov- 
ed to roam, 

But now all is quiet and still. 

Many years have gone by since in prayer 
there I knelt. 
With dear ones around the old heart. 
But my mother's sweet prayers in my 
heart are still felt, 
r treasure them up wliile on earth., 



Picked up Here and There." 

One by one they have gone from my old 
cottage home, 
On earth I shall see them no more, 
But I hope we shall meet round the beau- 
tiful throne 
Where parting will come never more. 



**The Last Shall Be First; and the First 

ShaU Be Last." 

St. Peter^ stood guard at the golden gate. 
With a solemn mien and an air sedate, 
When up to the top of the golden stair 
A man and a woman, ascending there. 
Applied for admission. They came and 

Before St. Peter so great and good, 
In hopes the city of peace to win, 
To ask St. Peter to let them in. 

^'I've tDld the sinners about the day 

When they'd repent of their evil way; 

I've told my neighbors, IVe told 'em all, 

'Bout Adam and the primal fall; 

I've shown them what they had to do 

If they'd pass in with the chosen few; 

I've marked their path of duty clear. 
Laid out the plan for their whole career. 

''I've talked and talked to 'em loud and 

For my lungs are good and my voice is 

So, Good St. Peter, you'll plainly see 
The gate of heaven is open to me. 
But my old man, I regret to say. 
Hasn't walked straight in the narrow way; 
He smokes and\ swears, and grave faults 

he's got. 
And I don't know whether he'll pass or 


The woman was tall and lank and thin, 
With a stragly beardlet on her chin, 
The man was short, and thick and stout. 
His stomach was built so it rounded out. 
His face was pleasant and all the while. 
He wore a kindly and gentle smile, 
The choirs in the distance the echoes awoke 
^nd the man kept still while the woman 

"He never would pray with an earnest 

Or go to a revival or join in a hymn; 

So I had to leave him in sorrow there. 
While I with the chosen united in prayer. 
He ate what the pantry chose to afford. 
Sure, it was not piled up on the board. 
And if cucumbers were all he got. 
It's a chance if he merited them or not. 

''^Oh, thou who guardest the gates," said 

'*We come hither beseeching thee 
To let us enter the heavenly land. 
And play our harps with the angel band, 
Of me St. Peter there is no doubt. 
There is nothing from heaven to bar me 

I've been to meeting three times a week, 
And almost always I'd rise and speak. 

''But, oh, St. Peter, I love him so, 

To the pleasure of heaven, please let him 

I've done enough — a saint I've been. 
Won't that atone? Can't you let him in? 
By my grim gospel I know it is so 
That the unrepentant must fry below, 
But isn't there some way you can see, 
That he may enter who is dear to me? 

'^Gleanings from the Gullies. 


"It is a narrow gospel which I pray, 
But the chosen expect to find some way 
Of coaxing, or fooling, or bribing you 
So that their relations can amble through, 
And say, St. Peter, it seems to me 
This gate is not kept as it ought to be; 
You ought to stand right by the opening 

-And never sit down in that easy chair. 

**And say, St, Peter, my sight is dimmed, 
But I don't like the way your whiskers 

are trimmed; 
They are out too wide, and outward toss, 
They'd look better narrow — out sti-aight 

Well, we must be going our crowns to win. 
So open St. Peter, and we'll pass in." 

So St. Peter sat and stroked his staff, 
But spite of his office he had to laugh, 
Then he said with a fiery gleam in his eye: 
*^ Who's tending this gate — you or I?" 
And then he arose in his stature tall 
And pressed a button upon the wall. 
And said to the imp who answered the bell, 
"Escort this lady around to hell.' 

The man stood still as a piece of stone — 
Stood s^dly, gloomily there alone, 
A life-long settled idea he had 
That his wife was good and he was bad. 
He thought if the woman went down be- 
low, V 
That he would certainly have to go; 
That if she went to the regions dim, 
There wasn't a ghost of a show for him. 
Slowly he turned by habit bent, 
To follow wherever the woman went, 
St. Peter standing on duty there. 
Observed that the top of his head was 

He called the gentleman and said: 
"Friend, how long have you been wed?" 
"Thirty years!" (with a heavy sigh.) 
And then he thoughtfully added, "Why?' 

St. Peter was silent with head bent down 
He raised his head and scratched his 

Then seemed *a different thought to take, 
Slowly half to himself he spake: 
"Thirty years with that woman there; 
No wonder that man hasn't any hair, 
Swearing is wicked, smoke's no good; 
He smoked and swore — I should think he 


"Thirty years with that tongue so sharp? 
Ho, Angel Gabriel, give him a harp, 
A jeweled harp with a golden string! 
Good sir, pass in where the angels sing 
Gabriel, give him a seat alone — 
One with a cushion — up near the throne; 
Call up the angels to play their best, 
Let him enjoy the music and rest. 

"See that on the finest ambrosia he feeds, 
He's had about all the hell he needs; 
It isn't hardly the thing to do 
To roast him on earth and the future too." 

They gave him a harp with golden strings, 
A glimmering robe and a pair of wings, 
And he said as he entered the realm of day, 
"Well, this beats cucumbers anyway." 
And so the scriptures had come to pass, 
That, "The last shall be first, and the first * 
shall be last." 


In all the world, go where you will. 

You'll never :^nd another. 
Who'll stick to you through good or ill, 

And love you like a mother. 

In all the world where'er you roam, 
With sister, wife or brother. 

You'll never know so sweet a home, 
As that made by mother. 


i ( 

Picked up Her e and There,'' 

in all the world though wealth commands, 

For you the work of others; 
You ^11 never find a pair of h^nds 

To toil for you like mother's. 

We have no right to judge a man, 
Until he is fairly tried; 

Should we not like his company, 
We know the world is wide. 

In all the world, although you should, 

In riches nearly smother; 
You'll taste no cooking half so good, 

As that prepared by mother. 

In all the world, though friends sincere. 
And more to 'you than brothers; 

Youll never for a moment hear 
A voice so kind as mother 's. 

Some have faults, but who have not; 

The old as well as young; 
Pel haps wc may, for aught we know, 

Have fifty to their one. 

I'll tell you of a better plan, 
And find it works as well; 

To try my own defects to cure, 
Before or others tell. 

In all the world, although you break 
The tender hearts of others; 

There is no heart can ever ache 
For you as much as mother's. 

In all the world, though you create 

A pleasure for another; 
You can give none a joy so great. 

As you can give to mother. 

In all the world, although a wife. 
May you in goodness smother; 

There 's none who '11 sacrifice a life 
For you as quick as mother. 

In all the world, though you in bliss, 

May soon forget another; 
There is no one whom you will miss 

When she is gone, like mother. 


In speaking of a persons faults, 

Pray don't forget your own; 
Remember those with homes of glass. 

Should never throw a stone. 

If we have nothing else to do, 

But talk of those who sin; 
'Tis better we commence at home, 

And from that point begin. 

And though I sometimes hope to be, 
No worse than some I know; 

My own shortcomings bid me let 
Tho faults of others go. 

Then lot us all, when we begin 

To slander friend or foe. 
Think of the harm one word may do, 

To those we little know. 

Eemember, curses sometimes, like 
Little chickens, roost at home; 

Don't speak of other's faults until 
You have fully tried you own. 


Farewell, old home, I leave in tears 
Dear mother, sister, brother; 

For many are the weary years 
Ere we shall meet each other. 

Farewell, old oak, oft have I played 

Beneath thy gentle wave; 
Still live and let thy branches shade 

Dear father's lonely grave. 

Farewell, old fields, where once, a boy 

I loved so well to roam; 
Farewell, sweet flowers, my sister's joy. 

Still bloom and cheer their home. 

*^ Gleanings from the Gullies.'' 


Farewell, my dog, I leave you now, 

There's sadness in your eye; 
You can not speak but seem to bow 

As if to say good-bye. 

Farewell, old horse, good, faithful friend. 

No more well till the soil. 
But may some other hand defend 

Your weary limbs from toil. 

Farewell, old grove of giant trees — 

You wave your farewell too, 
As bending to the evening breeze 

You softly sigh, adieu! 

Farewell, sweetheart, I cherish still 

Your mem'ry in my heart. 
But fate's decree and heaven's will 

Have destined us to part. 

Farewell to all, God knows 'tis best, 

He willed it long before. 
But soon we all shall be at rest 

Where parting is no more. 


Kiss me, mother, kiss your darling, 

Lay my head upon your breast. 
Fold your loving arms around me 

I am weary, let me rest. 
Scenes of life are swiftly fading. 

Brighter seems the other shore; 
I am standing by the river. 

Angels wait to waft me o ti. 

Chorus — 

Kiss me, mother, kiss your darling. 

Breathe a blessing on my brow, 
For I'll soon be with the angels — 

Fainter grows my breath e 'en now. 
Tell the loved one not to murmur; 

Say I died our flag to save. 
And that I shall slumber sweetly 

In the soldier's honored grave. — Cho^ 

Oh! how dark this world is growing — 

Hark! I hear the angel band — 
How I long to join their nuhaber 

In that fair and happy land! 
Hear you not that heavenly music 

Floating near so soft and low? 
I must leave you — ^farewell mother! 

Kiss me once before I go. — Cho. 


No home no home for a little girl 
At the door of the prince's hall, 

She trembling stood on the parlor step' 
And leaned on the marble wall. 

Her clothes were thin, her feet were bare>. 

The snow had covered her head. 
Give me a home she feebly said, 

A home and a piece of bread. 

My father, alas, I never knew — 

And the tears in her eyes so bright — 

My mother sleeps in a new-made grave, 
I'm an orphan girl tonight. 

The night was dark and the snow fell 
fast — 
The rich man shut his door; 
His proud heart frowned, he scornfully 
No room, no bread for the poor. 

Kiss me, mother, kiss your darling, 
Lay my head upon your breast. 

Fold your loving arms around me, 
I am weary, let me rest. 

The rich man sleeps on his velvet couch, 
And dreams of his silver and gold; 

The poor little girl on a bed of snow^ 
She murmurs, so cold, so cold.. 


( ( 

Picked up Here and There." 

Her clothes were thin, her feet were bare, 
The snow had covered her feet, 

Her little torn dress all covered in snow, 
Yes, covered in snow and sleet. 

The hours rolled on, and midnight came. 

It seemed as a funeral bell, 
For oh! she was wrapped in a winding 

And the drifting snow still fell 

The morning came and the little girl. 
Still lying at the rich man's door. 

Her soul had fled to a world above, 

Where there's room and bread for the 


Dear heart I find we 're growing old, 
The years so quickly passed away, 

Since first we met have left their trace 
Upon both in threads of gray. 

The rose has faded from our cheek. 
But never has your heart grown cold 

Nor do we love each other less, 

Dear heart, because we're growing old. 

To me you're fairer than you were. 
The day I claimed you for my bride. 

And held you fondly in my arms, 
ITn conscious of all else beside. 

The faded cheek and whitened hair. 
Has yet for me a charm untold, 

Tliat only strengthens with each year, 
Dear heart, now we are growing old. 

Full forty years have passed since then. 
Years filled with only purest joy — 

No cloud has ever crossed our path, 
Our bliss has been without alloy. 

And when we reach the shining shore, 
And pearly gates, to us unfold, 

God grant we both may enter in. 
Dear heart and never more grow old. 


When the curtains of night are pinned 
back by the stars. 

And the beautiful moon leaps the skies. 
And the dewdrops of heaven are kissing 
the rose, 

It is then that my memory flies 
As if on the wings of some beautiful dove, 

In haste with the message it bears, 
To bring you a kiss of affection and say: 

''I'll remember you, love, in my pray- 


J J 

Chorus — 

Go where you will — on land or at sea — 

I'll share all your sorrows and cares. 
And when by my bedside I kneel down to 

I'll lemember you, love, in my prayers. 

I've loved you too fondly to ever forget 

The love you have spoken for me. 
And the kisses of affection still warm on 
my lips. 
When you told me how true you would 
I know not if fortune be fickle or friend. 

Of if time on your memory wears, 
I know that I love you, wherever you 
And remember you, love, in my prayers. 

Chorus. — 

When heavenly angels are guarding the 
As God has ordained them to do. 
In answer to prayers I have offered to 
I know there is one watching you, 
And may its bright spirit be with you 
through life, 
To guide you up heaven's bright stairs, 
And meet with the one who has loved you 
so true. 
And remembered you, love, in her pray- 

'' Gleanings from- the Gullies. 




I am going far away far away to leave 
you now 
To the Mississippi river I am going, 
I will take my banjo 'long and I'll sing 
dis little song; 
Away down in my old cabin home. 

Chorus — 

Here is my old cabin home, 

Here is my sister and my brother, 
Here lies my wife, the joy of my life. 

And my child in the grave with its 

I am going to leave this land with this 
our darkey band, 
To travel all this wide world over, 
And when I get tired, I will settle down 
to rest, 
Away down in my old cabin honae. 

When old age comes on, and my hair is 
turning gray, 
I will hang up de banjo all alone, 
I'll sit down by the fire, and I'll pass the 
time away. 
Away down in my old cabin home. 

'Tis dar where I roam, way down on de 
old farm, 
Where the darkies are free 
Oh! merrily sound de banjo for de white 
folks in de room. 
Away down in my old cabin home. 


I wandered today to the hills, Maggie, 

To watch the scenes below. 
The creek and the creaking old mill, 

As we used to long ago. 

The green grove has gone from the Mil, 

Where first the daisies sprung. 
The creaking old mill is still, Maggie, 

Since you and I were young. 

Chorus — 

And now we are aged and gray, Maggie, 

The trials of life nearly done. 
Let us sing of the old days that are gone, 

When you and I were young. 

A city so silent and lonely, Maggie, 
■ Where the young and the gay and the 

In polished white mansions of stone, 

Have each found a place of rest. 

They say I am feeble with age, Maggie, 
My steps are less sprightly than then, 

My face' is a well-written page, Maggie; 
But time alone was the pen. 

They say we are aged and gray, Maggie, 
As spray by the white breakers flung, 

But to me you are as f air y* Maggie, 
When you and I were young. 


The wedding bells were ringing on 

A moonlight winter night. 
The church was decorated, all 

Within was gay and bright. 
A mother with her baby came 

And saw the lights aglow. 
She thought of how those same bells 

For her three years ago. 
I'd like to be admitted, sir. 

She told the sexton old, 
Just for the sake of baby to 

Protect him from the cold. 
He told her that the wedding there 

Was for the rich and grand 
And with the eager watching crowd 

Outside she'd have to stand. 



Picked up Here and There 


Chorus — 

While the wedding bells were ringing, 
While the bride and groom were there 

Marching up the aisle together as 
The organ pealed an air, 

Telling tales of fond affection, vowing 
never more to part — 

Just another fatal wedding, 
Just another broken heart. 

-She begged the sexton once again 

To let her pass inside 
cFor baby's sake you may step in, 
^ The gray-haired man replied, 
If any one knows reason why 

This couple should not wed 
Speak now or hold your peace forever, 

Soon the preacher said, 
I must object, the woman cried 

With voice so meek and mild. 
The bridegroom is my husband, sir, 

And this our little child. 
What proof have you, the preacher asked; 

My infant, she cried. 
She raised her babe, then knelt to pray, 

The little one had died 

'The parents of the bride then took 

The outcast by the arm, 
IVe'U care for you through life, they said, 

You've saved our child from harm. 
The outcast wife — the bride and parents 

Quickly drove away. 
The father died by his own hand 

Before the break of day. 
"No wedding feast was spread that night, 

Two graves were made next day. 
One for the little baby and 

In one the father lay. 
The story has been often told 

By fireside, warm and bright, 
Of bride and groom — the outcast, and 

That fatal wedding night. 


Mother, dear, come bathe my forehead, 

For I'm growing very weak — 
Mother let one drop of water 

Fall upon my burning cheek. 
Tell my loving little schoolmates. 

That I never more will play. 
Give them all my toys, but mother 

Put my little shoes away. 

Chorus — 

I am going to leave you, mother. 

So remember what I say. 
Oh, do it, won't you? please mother, 

Put my little shoes away. 

Santa Claus he gave them to me 

With a lot of other things. 
And I think he brought an angel 

With a pair of golden wings. 
Mother I will be an angel. 

By perhaps another day. 
So you will then, dearest mother. 

Put my little shoes away. — Chorus. 

Soon the baby will be large. 

Then they'll fit his little feet; 
Oh! he'll look so nice and cunning. 

As he walks along the street. 
Now I'm getting tired, mother. 

Now soon I'll say to all good day, 
Please remember what I tell you. 

Put my little shoes away. — Chorus. 


Father, dear father, come home with me 
The clock in the steeple strikes one; 
You said you were coming right home from 
the shop. 
As soon as you day's work was done. 
Our fire has gone out — our house is all 
dark — 
And mother's been watching since tea, 
With poor brother Benny so sick in her 
And no one to help her but me. 


Gleanings from the Gullies. 



Chorus — 

Come home! come home! come home! 
Please father, dear father, come home, 
Hear the sweet voice of the child, 
Which the night winds repeat as they 
Oh, who could resist this most plaintive 
of prayers? 
Please father, dear father, come home! 
Father, dear father, come home with me 
The clock in the steeple strikes two; 
The night has grown colder, and Benny 
is worse — 
But he has been calling for you. 
Indeed he is worse — ma says he will die. 

Perhaps before morning shall dawn; 
And this is the message she sent me to 
**Come quickly, or he will be gone/' 
— Chorus. 

Father, dear father, come home with me 
The clock in the steeple strikes three; 
The house is so lonely — the hours are so 
For poor weeping mother and me. 
Yes we are alone — poor Benny is dead, 

And gone with the angels of light; 
And these were the very last words that 
he said: 
I want to kiss papa good-night. 

Chorus — 

Come home! come home! come home! 

Please father, dear father, come home. 

I'll deck my brow with roses, the loved 
! one may be there. 
The gem that others gave me, will shine 

within my hair; 
And even them that know me, will think 

my heart is light. 
Though my heart will break tomorrow, 
I'll be all smiles tonight. 

Chorus — 

I'll be all smiles tonight, love, I'll be all 

smiles tonight. 
Though my heart should break tomorrow, 
I'll be all smiles tonight. 

And when the room he entered, the bride 

upon his arm, 
T stood and gazed upon him as if he were 

a charm. 
So once he smiled upon her, so once he 

smiled on me. 
They knew not what I suffered, they found 

no change in me. — Chorus. 

And when the song commences. Oh! how 

I will rejoice, 
I'll sing the song he taught me without 

one faltering voice. 
When flatterers come around me, they 

will think my heart is light 
Though my heart will break tomorrow, 
I'll be all smiles tonight. — Chorus. 

And when the dance is over, and all have 

gone to rest, 
I'll think of him, dear mother, the one 

that I love best, 
lie once did love, believe me, but has now 

grown cold and strange. 
He sought not to deceive me false friends 

have wrought this change. — Chorus. 


'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we 

may roam. 
Be it ever so humble there's no place like 

A charm from the skies seems to hallow 

us there. 

Chorus — 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home. 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like 


^^ Picked wp Here and There. 



I gaze on the moon, as I trace the drear And her bright-eyed daughters, none can 

fairer be, 
Oh! it is the land of love and sweet lib- 

Down in Carolina grows the lofty pine, 

And her groves and forests bear the scent- 
ed vine; 

Here are peaceful homes too, nestling 'mid 
the flowers — 

Oh! there is no land on earth like this 
fair land of ours. — Chorus. 

Come to Carolina in the summer time, 

When her luscious fruits are hanging in 
their prime. 

And the maidens singing in the leafy bow- 
ers — 

Oh! there is no land on earth like this 
fair land of ours. — Chorus. 

All her girls are charming, graceful too, 

and gay, 
Happy as the bluebirds in the month of 

And they steal your ear, too, by their 

magic powers— 
Oh! there are no girls on earth that can 

compare with ours. — Chorus. 

And her sons so true, in ^'warp and woof 

and * 'grain," 
First to shed their blood on freedom's 

battle plain; 
And the first to hail from sea to mountain 

Strangers from all other lands to this fair 

land of ours. — Chorus. 
Then for Carolina, brave, and free and 

Sound the need of praises ''in story and 

in song," 
From her fertile vales and lofty grand 

towers — 


And feel that my parent now thinks of 
her child; 

She looks on that moon from our own cot- 
tage door. 

Through woodbines whose fragrance shall 
cheer me no more. — Chorus. 

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in 

vain ; 
Oh! give me my lowly thatched cottage 

The birds singing, that come at my call; 
Give me them, sweet of mine dearer than 

all. — Chorus. 

If I return home overburdened with care, 
The heart's dearest solace I'm sure to 

meet there; 
The bliss I experience whenever I come. 
Makes no other place seem like that of 

sweet home. — Chorus. 

Farewell, peaceful cottage, farewell happy 

Forever I'm doomed a poor exile to roam; 
This poor aching heart must be laid in the 

Ere it cease to regret the endearments of 

home. — Chorus. 


Let no heart in sorrow weep for other 

Let no idle dreamers tell in melting flays 

Of the merry meetings in the rosy bow- 

For there is no land on earth like this fair 
land of ours. 

Chorus — 

Ho! for Carolina that's the land for me; 

In her happy borders roam the brave and For there is no land on earth like this 
free; fair land of ours. — Chorus. 


Gleanings from the Gullies. 




My grandfather's clock was too large for 
the shelf 
So it stood ninety years on the floor; 
It was taller by half than the old man 
Though it weighed not a penny weight 
more ; 
It was bought on the morn of the day that 
he was born, 
And was always his pleasure and pride: 
But it stopped short — never to go again, 
When the old man died. 

Chorus — 

Ninety years without isliimbering — tick, 

tick, tick, tick; 
His life's seconds numbering — tick, tick, 

tick, tick; 
It stopped short — never to go again — 
When the old man died. 

In watching its pendulum swinging to and 

Many hours had he spent when a boy 
And in childhood and manhood the clock 
seemed to know, 
And to share both his grief and his joy; 
For it struck twenty-four when he entered 
the door 
With a blooming and beautiful bride 
But it stopped short — never to go again — 
When the old main died. — Chorus. 

My grandfather said that those he' could 
Not a servant so faithful he found, 
For it wasted no time and had but one 

desire — 
At the close of each week to be wound, 
It was kept in its place — not a frown upon 
its face, 
And its hands never hung by its side, 
' But it stopped short — never to go again — 
When the old man died. — Chorus. 

It rang an alarm in the dead of the night — 
An alarm that for years had been 
dumb — 
And we knew that his spirit was pluming 
for flight — 
That his hour for departure had come. 
Still the clock kept time with a soft and 
muffled chime, 
As we silently stood by his side, 
But it stopped short — never to go again — ■ 
When the old man died. — Chorus. 


How dear to this heart are the scenes of 

my childhood 
When fond recollection presents them to 

The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled 

And every loved spot which my infancy 

The wide-spreading pond, the mill that 

stood by it, 
The bridge and the rock where the cat- 
aract fell; 
The cot of my father, the dairy .house nigh 

An e'en the rude bucket that hung in the 


Chorus — 

The old oaken bucket, the iron bound 

The moss-covered bucket that hung in the 


That moss-covered bucket I hail as a treas- 
For often at noon when I returned from 
the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleas- 
The purest and sweetest that nature can 



Picked up Here and There,* ^ 

How ardent I seized it with hands that 
were glowing, 
And quick to the white-pebbled bottom 
it fell; 
Then soon with the emblem of truth over- 
And dripping with coolness it rose from 
the well. — Chorus. 

How sweet from the green mossy rim to 
receive it, 
As poised on the curb it inclined to my 
lips; ; 
Not a full gushing goblet could tempt me 
to leave it, 
Though filled with the nearer that Jup- 
iter sips. 
And now far removed from the loved sit_ 
The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 
As fancy reverts to my father's planta- 
And sighs for the bucket which hung 
in the well. — Chorus. 


Now, while I have a leisure time, 
I'll try to write a factory rhyme. 
I live in Greensboro, a lively town, 
And work in a factory, by the name of 

Perhaps you'd like to know my name, 
But you never will — I don't write for 

But I write to let all classes know, 
How cotton mill hands have to go. 

'Tis not the intent of my heart 
To write anything that would start 
Animosity between my employer and me, 
But what I write let factory people see. 

That while in factories we remain, 
We are looked upon as a set insane; 
The upper tens who swell and fret. 
Call us the 'ignorant factory set." 

We were not bred in college walls, 
Never played in theaters or danced in op- 
era halls. 
Nor eat ice cream, nor drank lemonade. 
Nor smoked cigars, Havana made. 

Nor went to picnics every other day. 
Nor went on excursions without pay, 
Nor wore fine clothes and derby hats. 
Nor rode bicycles and played with ball 
and bats. 

But now I'll tell you what we do; 

And factory hands know it's true; 

We rise up early with the lark 

And work from dawn till after dark. 

We have hard times you all well know. 

To church we hardly get to go; 

When the Sabbath comes we are tired 

From working hard the whole week round. 

We are looked upon as the lowest grade 
Of the whole creation God has made. 
And I'll have you all to ne'er forget. 
We are called the ^'poor, ignorant factory 


We pay high prices for all we eat — 
Molasses and coffee, bread meat; , 

And should we fail our money to get, 
We are the ' ' lying factory set. ' ' 

The merchants love to see us at work, 
But our company on Sunday they will 

But when pay-day comes our money to 

Then we are the 'Spaying faet;ory set." 


Gleanings from the Gullies." 


The darkies call us ''white factory trash." 
And say we never have a bit of cash; 
But I'll have all colors ne'er forget 
We are the ' ' moneyed factory set. ' ' 

Education we have none, 

Father nor mother, daughter nor son, 

And that is why the people fret 

And call us the ''ignorant factory set." 

And now you've read this rhyme all 

And know what I have written is true. 
And I hope all Christians will ne'er forget 


pray for 

us, the "ignorant factory 

But in the end we hope to see 

These people as happy as they can be. 

And when the judge on his throne shall 

We hope he will say, "come in, happy fac- 
tory set." 



A home without a mother, 

Is hardly home at all, 
A watch must have a balance wheel. 

Although the watch be small. 

I To regulate the household. 
Better than any other, 
Though she is not the motive power. 
The balance wheel is "mother." 


The center of domestic love. 

The radiating center, 
How bright she shines on those dear ones. 

Whom God hath kindly sent her. 

All things must have a head you know, 

For every school a teacher. 
A general for the fighting host, 

And for the church, a preacher. 

"Order is heaven's first law" tis said. 

Domestic order, no man 
Has ever seen, complete and true, 

On earth, without a woman! 

"Now, poor bachelor," says one, 
"What can you know about it," 

I've been a calm observer, sir, 
And why should any doubt it! 

Although I never owned a mill, 

I've seen its operation; 
And soon, I know, 'twould go to wreck 

Without some regulation. 


A tramp asked for a free drink in a 
saloon. The request was granted, and when 
in the act of drinking the proffered bever- 
age, one of the young men present ex- 
claimed : 

"Stop, make us a speech. It is a poor 
liquor that doesn't unloosen a man's 

The tramp hastily swallowed down the 
drink, and as the rich liquor coursed 
through his blood he straightened himself 
and stood before them with a grace and 
dignity that all his rags and dirt could 
not obscure. 

"Gentlemen," he said, "I look tonight 
at you and myself, and it seems to me I 
look upon the picture of my lost manhood. 
This bloated face was once as handsome 
as yours. This shambling figure once 
walked as proudly as yours, a man in the 
world of men. I too, once had a home and 
friends and position. I had a wife as 
beautiful as an artist's dream, and I drop- 
ped the priceless pearl of her honor and 
respect in the winecup, and, 
saw it dissolve and quaffed it down in the 
brimming draught. I had children as 
sweet and lovely as the flowers of spring, 
and saw them fade and die under the 




Picked up Here and There. 

> f 

blighting curse of a drunken father. I 
had a home where love lit the flame upon 
the altar and minstered before it, and I 
put out the holy fire and darkness and 
desolation reigned in its stead. I had as- 
pirations and ambitions that soared as 
high as the morning star and broke and 
bursted their beautiful wings, and at last 
strangled them that I might be tortured 
with their cries no more. Today I am a 
husband without a wife, a father without 
a child, a tramp with no home to call his 
own, a man in whom every good impulse 
is dead. And, all swallowed up in the 
maelstrom of drink.'' 

The tramp ceased speaking. The glass 
fell from his nerveless fingers and shiver- 
ed into a thousand pieces. When the lit- 
tle group about the bar looked up the 
tramp was gone. — New Orleans Picayune. 


The Omaha Eepublican gives the fol- 
lowing history of the production which 
the London Spectator pronounces the fin- 
est poem ever written in America. In the 
early part of the war on a stormy night, 
right in the dead of winter there died at 
the Commercial Hospital, in Cincinnati, a 
young woman, over whose head only sum- 
mers had passed. She had once been pos- 
sessed of an enviable share of beauty and 
had been as she herself said, ''flattered 
and sought for the charms on her face," 
but alas! she had fallen from woman's 
high estate. Highly educated and with 
accomplished manners, she might have 
shone in the highest society. But the evil 
hour that procured her ruin was the one 
from which went out the innocence of 
childhood; and having spent a young life 
in disgrace and shame, the po,or and friend- 
less one died the melancholy death of a 
broken hearted outcast. Among her per- 
gonal effects was found in manuscript, 

''The Beautiful Snow," which was car- 
ried to Enos B. Eeed, a gentleman of cul- 
ture and literary taste, who was at that 
time of the National Union In the col- 
umns of that paper on the morning of the 
day following the girl's death,, the poem 
appeared in print the first time. When the 
paper containing the poem came out, the 
body of the victim had not yet received 
burial. The attention of Thomas Buchanan 
Eeed, one of the first American poets, was 
so taken with the stirring pathos that he 
immediately followed the corpse to its final 
resting place. Such are the plain facts 
concerning he» whose "Beautiful Snow" 
will long be remembered as one of the 
brightest gems in American literature. 

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow! 
Filling the sky and the earth below. 
Over the housetops, over the street. 
Over the heads of all the people you meet. 
Dancing, flitting, skipping along; 
Beautiful snow! it can do nothing wrong, 
Flying to kiss the fair lady's cheek. 
Clinging to lips in a frolicksome freak. 
Beautiful snow from the heavens above, 
Pure as an angel, gentle as love. 

Oh! the snow, the beautiful snow! 

How the flakes gather and light as they 

Whirling about in their maddening fun; 
It plays in its glee with every one. 
Chasing, laughing, hurrying by. 
It lights on the face and sparkles the eye, 
And playing dogs with a bark and a 

Snap at the crystals that eddy around; 
The town is alive and its health's aglow 
To welcome the coming of the beautiful 


How wildly the crowd goes swaying along, 
Hailing each other with humor and song, 
How the gay sleds like meteors pass by. 
Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye; 


Gleanings from the Gullies. 


Ringing, swinging, dashing they go, 
I Over the crest of the beautiful snow — 
I Snow so pure when it fell from the sky, 
As to make one regret — to see it lie 
To be trampled and tracked by thousands 

of feet, 
Till it blends with the filth of the horrible 

street. - 
Once I was as pure as the snow, but I fell. 
Fell like a snowflake, from heaven to hell; 
Fell to be trampled on as filth in the street, 
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat; 
Pleading, cursing, dreading to die! 
Selling my soul to whoever would buy. 
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread; 
Hating the living, fearing the dead, 
Merciful God! Have I fallen so low! 
And yet was once like the beautiful snow. 

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow, 
With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its 

Once I was loved for my innocent grace. 
Flattered and sought for the charms of my 

Father, mother, sister, all, 
God and myself have lost my fall! 
The vilest wretch that goes shivering by, 
Will make a wide aweep lest I wander too 

For all that is on or above me, I know 
There's nothing so pure as the beautiful 


How strange it should be that the beauti- 
ful sn-ow 
Should fall on the sinner with nowhere to 


How strange it should be" when night 
comes again. 

If the snow and the ice struck my des- 
perate brain! 

Fainting, freezing, dying alone, 

Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a 

To be heard on the street of a crazy town, 
Gone mad in the joy of a snow coming 

To be and to die in my teiT-ible woe, 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful 


Helpless and foul as the trampled snow, 
Sinner, despair not, Christ stoopeth low 
To rescue the soul that is lost in its sin, 
And raise to life and enjoyment again. 
Groaning, bleeding, dying for Thee, 
The crucified on the accursed tree, 
His accents of mercy fell soft on thine ear 
Is there mercy for me? Will He heed my 

O God! in the stream that for sinners did 

Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. 


How many men there are that ride in for- 
tune 's car; 
And bolt and bar the door against the 
Because they've lots of gold their hearts 
turn icy cold. 
They sought to be condemned for it I'm 
Now speaking of the race, that tramp from 
place to place. 
There are some of them who are men 
from top to toe. 
So if they are in need of this circumstance 
take heed. 
And remember that a poor tramp has to 

So if you meet a tramp that bears misfor- 
tune's tramp. 
If he's worthy of your aid, why freely 
Give to him a hearty grip, wish him luck 
upon his trip. 
And remember that the poor tramp has 
to live. 



Picked up Here and There. 

* f 

I lately saw a tramp, whom people called 
a scamp, 
And upon him set their dogs lest he 
might steal, 
And as he turned away, I saw him kneel 
and pray. 
And I know that God above heard his 
For little do we know, as he tramps 
through rain and snow, 
That once he was as happy as a king; 
Till fortune's cruel dart pierced his naanly 
And took away his home and everything. 

I once heard a tramp relate the sad story 

of his fate. 
And how he was an outcast shunned by 

He lived a happy life, had a loving child 

and wife; 
But, alas, like Eve, this woman had to 

For she proved weak and frail, there's no 

use to tell the tale. 
How she turned his manly hekrt to sad 

He never since has smiled on that hand- 
some wife and child; 
But sadly now he tramps from place to 



Father, they tell me that tonight 

' You'll wed another bride, 
That you will clasp her in those arms 
Where my own mother died. 

That she will lay her graceful head 
Upon your loving breast. 

While her's now lying low in death 
In life's last hour did rest. 

They say her name is Mary, too, 

The same my mother bore. 
But, father, is she good and true, 

Like her you loved before? 

And is her step as soft and light? 

Her voice you think shall love me too — 

Your blind and helpless child? 
Oh! father, do not bid me come 

Tonight, to meet your bride, 
I could not meet her in the room 

Where my darling mother died. 

Her picture hangs upon the wall, 

Her books are lying there; 
There stands the harp her fingers touched, 

And there's her easy chair — 

That chair where by her side I knelt. 

To say my evening prayep. 
Oh! father, it would break my heart; 

I could not meet her there. 

Now, father, once before you go 

To meet your promised bride. 
Please sing the song mother sang 

The night before she died. 

And let me kneel beside you here 

And to €ur Saviour pray. 
That his right hand may guide you both, 

All through life's weary way. 

The song was ended and the prayer; 

''I'm weary now," she said. 
He gently bore her in his arms, 

And placed her on the bed. 

And as he turned to leave the room. 
One low glad moan was given. 

He caught one beaming smile and then 
His blind child was in heaven. 

They laid her by her mother's side, 

And raised a marble fair. 
And on it carved these simple words — 

''There are no blind ones there." 

** Gleanings from the Gullies/' 



Come all ye good people, I pray you draw 

A sorrowful story you soon shall hear. 
The story I'll tell you is about Naomi 

' Wise, 
How she was deluded by Lewis' lies. 
When he first came to see her, fine tales 

he did tell. 
He premised to marry her and use her 

quite well. 
But now he has brought her to shame and 

Come friends and dear neighbors and pity 

her case. 

Come all you young ladies, as you go pass- 
ing by, 

Don't you be ruined by Lewis' lies. 

He promised to meet her at Adams' 
springs ; 

Some money to bring her, and other fine 

But none of these he brought her, he flat- 
tered the case. 

He says, ''We'll be married, it shall be 
no disgrace. 

Come, get up behihd me, and we'll go to 
the town; 

And there we'll be married and in union 

She got up behind him and away they did 


To the banks of Deep Eiver, where the 

water did flow. 
Get down, my dear Naomi, I tell you my 

I intend here to drown you, and leave you 


Oh! think of your infant, and spare me 

my life; 
Let me live, full of shame, if I can 't be 

your wife. 

No mercy, no mercy, this rebel replies, 

In Deep Eiver bottom your body shall lie. 

This rebel, he choked her, as we under- 

And threw her in water below the mill- 

They found her floating where the water 
was deep, 

Which caused her neighbors and friends 
all round her to weep. 

They took her from the water; it was a 
sad sight, 

On the banks of Deep Eiver she lay all 
that night, 

Next morning, quite early a jury was held, 

And here good, honest neighbors the truth 
they all tell. 


I've a secret in my heart, sweet Marie, 

A tale I would impart, love, to thee. 

Every daisy in the dell 

Knows my secret well 

And yet I dare not tell, sweet Marie, 

When I hold your hand in mine, sweet 

A feeling most divine comes to me; 
All the world is full of spring, full of 

warblers on the wing, 
And I listen while they sing, sweet Marie. 

Chorus — 

Come to me, sweet Marie, sweet Marie, 

come to me, 
Not because your face is fair, love to see, 
But your soul so pure and sweet 
Makes my happiness complete, 
Makes me falter at your feet, sweet Marie. 

In the morn when I wake, sweet Marie, 
Seems to me my heart will break, love, for 

Every wave that shakes the shore. 
Seems to sing it o'er and o'er. 



Picked up Here and There.'' 

Seems to say that I adore, sweet Marie. 
When the sunset tints the west, sweet 

And I sit down to rest, love, with thee, 
Every star that studs the sky, seems to 

stand and wonder why 
They're so dimmer than your eye, sweet 

Marie. — Chorus. 


(He owned a handsome touring car, 

To ride in it was heaven; 
He ran across a piece of glass — 

Bill $14.97. 

He took his friends out for a ride, 

'Twas good to be alive; 
The carburetor sprang a leak — 

Bill $40.95. 

He started on a little tour. 
The finest sort of fun; 
He stopt too quick and stript a gear — 
Bill $90.51. 

He took his wife to town to shop, 
To save car fare was great; 

He jammed into a hitching post — 
Bill $278. 

He spent his little pile of cash. 
And then in anguish cried: 
I'll put a mortgage on the place, 
And take just one more ride!" 

— The Hoosier. 


The buildings are the tallest 

In Burlington; 
The ladies feet are smallest 

In Burlington; 
The wits are always keenest. 
The pavements are the cleanest 
The boulevards are greenest 

In Burlington. 

The newspapers are brightest 

In Burlington; 
Policemen are politest 

In Burlington; 
Annoyances are fewest. 
And the bon-mots are the newest. 
While the skies are ever bluest 

In Burlington, 

The ladies are the fairest 

In Burlington; 
And the homely girls the rarest 

In Burlington; 
The husbands are the neatest. 
While the wives are the sweetest 
And the errand boys are fleetest 

In Burlington, 

The aldermen are greatest 

In Burlington; 
Their doings are the straightest 

In Burlington; 
The waiters are the mildest 
And the summers reconcildest 
And — * * * * 

The liars lie the wildest 
In Burlington. 


(Conductor and Driver.) 

Judge Hubbard, of Iowa, says it is the 
existence of corporations, 

George Gould says it is the hostility to 

The farmer says it is the low price in 

The silver men say it is the action of 
Wall Street. 

The Wall Street men say it is the action 
of the silver men. 

The manufacturer says it is the fear of 
free trade. 

The consumer says it is the tariff. 

The debtor says it is the creditor. 

The creditor says it is the debtor. 

'^Gleanings from the Gullies 



The Democrats say it is the Eepublicans. 

The Eepublicans say it is the Democrats. 

The Populists say it is both. 

The Prohibitionists say it is whiskey. 

The preacher says it is the devil. 

Now what have you got to say about it? 



LIFE NOV. 15, 1911. 

Jerusha, she has ceased to be, 
Her little form no more we see, 
Her sweet voice we hear no more, 
Nor clatter of feet from door to door. 

Her voice forever stilled in death — 
It came, she yielded up her breath, 
November 15th, nineteen eleven 
She made her exit from earth to Heaven. 

Her lifeless form we laid to rest. 
In Graham cemetery, God knew best 
To take her from our fond embrace, 
Where she'd behold her Saviour's face. 

There she '11 lie till Judgment Day, 
When God to all the dead will say, 
^' Arise to meet your risen Lord," 
And wear a crown, your great reward. 

We miss her every passing day, 
Where once she used so much to play 
Her sweet voice and pattering feet, 
We hear no more out on the street. 

We all must die God's way is best, 
We rest assured her soul's at rest. 
And of his goodness she will share. 
When the roll is called she will be there. 

Her stay on earth was a short time. 
But now she is in that sun-bright clime 
Resting in Jesus' sweet embrace. 
Beholding her Saviour face to face. 

Free from toil, free from care, 
We hope one day to meet her there, 
Free from earthly toils and fears, 
Where God will wipe away all tears. 

Then cheer up, father, cheer up mother, 
Take courage, sister, little brother. 
Believe God's word and trust his grace, 
And again you'll see Jerusha 's face. 

The blessed Jesus spake these words free, 
'^Suffer little children to come to me," 
Forbid them not the Scriptures say, 
Then let us all the command obey. 

Farewell Jerusha for a while. 
We hope one day to see your smile. 
And join you praising him evermore. 
Over on that blissful shore. 

With all the Saints around the throne. 
Where we shall know as we are known, 
And meet our dear departed friends. 
Where peace and happiness never ends. 

The above lines were written by G. D. 
Stutts, grandfather of Jerusha Stutts. 


The other day a lady accompanied by 
her son, a very small boy, boarded a train 
at Little Eock. The woman had a care- 
worn expression hanging over her face 
like a tattered veil, and many of the rapid 
questions asked by the boy were answered 
by unconscious sighs. 

''Ma," said the boy, ''that man's like 
a baby, ain't he?" pointing to the bald- 
headed man sitting just in frort of them. 


"Why must I hush?" 

After a few moments' silence: "Ma, 
what's the matter with that man's head?" 

"Hush, I tell you. He's bald?" 

"What's bald?" 



Picked up Here and There.'' 

' ' His head hasn 't got any hair on it. ' ' 

''Did it come off?" 

''I guess so." 

''Will mine come off?" 

' ' Some time, may be. ' ' 

"Then I'll be bald, won't T?" 


"Will you care?" 

"Don't ask so many questions." 

After another silence, the boy exclaim- 
ed: "Ma, look at that fly on that man's 

"If you don't hush, I'll whip you when 
we get home" 

"Look! There's another fly. Look at 
'Cm fight; look at 'em!" 

"Madam," said the man, putting aside 
a newspaper and looking around, "what's 
the matter with that young hyena?" 

The woman blushed stammering out 
something, and attempting to smooth back 
the boy 's hair. 

"One fly, two flies, three flies;" said 
the boy, innocently, following with his 
eyes a basket of oranges carried by a 

"Here, young hedgehog," said th^ bald- 
headed man, ' ' if you don 't hush, I '11 have 
the conductor put you off the train." 

The poor woman not knowing what else 
to do, boxed the boy's ears, and then gave 
him an orange to keep him from crying. 

"Ma, have I got red marks on my 

"I'll whip you again if you. don't 

"Mister," said the boy, after a short 
silence, "does it hurt to be bald-headed?" 

"Youngster," said the man, "if you 
will keep quiet, I'll give you a quarter." 
) The boy promised and the money was 
paid over. The man took up his paper and 
resumed his reading. 

"This is my bald-headed money. When 
I get bald-headedj I'm going to give boys 

money. Mister, have all bald.headed men 
got money?" 

The annoyed man threw down his paper, 
arose, and exclaimed ; ' ' Madam, hereafter 
when you travel, leave that young gorilla 
at home. Hitlierto, I always thought that 
the old prophet was very cruel for calling 
the bears to kill the children for making 
sport of his head, but now I am forced to 
believe that he did a Christian act. If 
your boy had been in the crowd, he would 
have died first. If I can't find another 
seat on the train, 1 '11 ride on the cow- 
catcher rather than remain here." 

' ' The bald-headed man is gone, ' ' said 
the boy; and as the woman leaned back 
a tired sigh escaped her lips. 


You ask what makes this darkey weep, 
Why he like others am not gay; 

What makes the tear flow down his cheek 

' From early morn till close of day. 

My story, darkies, you shall hear. 

For in my memory fresh it dwells, 
'Twill cause you all to drop a tear 
On the grave of my sweet Kitty Wells. 

Chorus- — 

While the birds were singing in the morn- 
And the myrtle and the ivy were in 
The sun on the hill top was dawning, 
'Twas then we laid her in the tomb. 

--* >-> 

I never shall forget the day 

When we together roamed the dells; 
I kissed her cheek and named the day 

That I would marry Kitty Wells. 
But death came in my cabin door 

And took from me my joy, my pride, 
And when I found she was no more 

I laid my banjo down and cried.^ — Cho. 

*' Gleanings from the Gullies.'^ 


I ofttimes wish that I wer« dead 

And laid beside her in the tomb; 
The sorrow that bows down my head 

Is silent in the midnight gloom. 
The springtime has no charms for me, 

Tho ' flowers are blooming in the dells, 
For that bright form I do not see — 

The form of my sweet Kitty Wells. 


Jennie my own true loved ome, 

I am going far from thee. 
Out on the bounding billows, 

Out on the dark blue Sea. 

How I will miss you my darling, 

There when the storm is raging high, 

Jennie my own true loved one; 
Wait till the clouds roll by. 

Chorus — 

Waith till the clouds roll by, Jennie, 

Wait till the clouds roll by, 
Jennie, my own true loved one. 

Wait till the clouds roll by. 

Jennie, when far from thee love, 

I am on the Ocean deep, 
Will you then dream of me love; 

Will you, your promise keep. — Cho. 

And will T come to you darling, 

Take courage dear and never sigh; 

Gladness will follow sorrow; 

Wait till the clouds roll by. — Cho. 

There where this old darkey's heart 
longs to go. 

There 's where I labored so hard for old 

Lay after day in the fields of yellow 


No place on earth do I love more sin- 
Than old Virginia, the State where I was 

Carry me back to old Virginia, 

There's where the cotton and the corn 
and taters grow, 

Tiiere's where the biid;: warble svTeo!;ly in 
the spring time. 
There 's where this old darkey 's heart 
longs to go. 

Carry me back to old Virginia, 

There let me live till I wither and decay, 
Long by the old Dismal Swamp have I 
There's where this old darkey's life will 
pass away, 
Massa and Missus have long gone before 
Soon we'll meet on that bright and gold- 
en shore, 
There we'll be happy and free from all 
There 's where we '11 meet and we '11 part 
never more. 

Chorus — 


Carry me back to old Virginia, 

There 's where the cotton and the corn 

and taters grow, 
There's where the birds warble sweetly in 

the springtime, 

Den carry me back to old Virginia, 

There's where de cotton and de corn and 
taters grow, 
Dar's whar de birds warble sweetly in de- 
spring time, 
Dar's wiiar dis darkey's heart am long'd' 
to go. 



Picked up Here and There." 


X/ast night I was out rather late, 

'Twas only an innocent spree, 
My wife for my coming did wait, 

When sleeping I thought she would be. 
I found her in temper and tears, 
^'O," she cried, ''It's a sin and a shame," 
And she scratched both my eyes and ears, 
But I told her I soon would explain. 

Chorus — 

The club had a meeting tonight, love. 
Of business we had a great sight, love. 
Don't think for a moment I'm tight, love, 
I've only been down to the club. * 

My boots I left down in the hall, 

And softly I crept up to the stairs, 
I kept rather close to the wall, 

And thought to ascend unawares. 
But just as I got to the door, 

I seemed to get lost in the dark, 
I stumbled and fell on the floor, 

And just then I could only remark, 
The club had a meeting, etc. 

She sobbed, she wept, and she screamed, 

And said she 'd go back to her ma. 
While I on the mantle-piece leaned. 

And tried to enjoy my cigar. 
I promised to buy her a dress, 

If she'd let me alone for awhile. 
Then I gave her a sweet little kiss. 

And I saw her beginning to smile. 
The club had a meeting, etc. 


Just down around the corner 

Of the street where I reside 
There lives the cutest little girl 

That I have ever spied. 
Her name is Eosa Ogrady 

And I don't mind telling you 
That she 's the sweetest little rose 

The garden ever grew. 


Sweet Eosa Ogrady my dear little rose, 

She's my steady lady most every one 

And when we are married how happy we '11 

For I love sweet Eosa Ogrady and Eosa 

Ogrady loves me. 

I never shall forget the day 

She promised to be mine 
As we sat telling loves tales in 

The golden" summer time 
When on her finger that I placed 

A small engagement ring 
While in the trees the little bird 

Did come there seem to sing. 

Chorus — 

Sweet Eosa Ogrady my dear little rose 
Shes my steady lady most everyone knows, 
And when we are married how happy we'll 

For I love sweet Eosa Ogrady and Eosa 

Ogrady loves me. 


I'sd gwine back to Dixie, no more I'se 

gwine to wander, 
My heart's turned back to Dixie, I can't 

stay here no longer. 
I miss de old plantation, my home and my 

My heart's turned back to Dixie, and I 

must go. 

Chorus — 

I'se gwine back to Dixie, I'se gwine back 

to Dixie; 
I'se gwine where de orange blossoms grow. 
For I hear the children calling, I see their 

sad tears falling", 
My heart 's turned back to Dixie and I 

must go. 

'^Gleanings from the Gullies.' 


I've hoed in fields of cotton, I've worked 

upon the river, 
I used to think if I got off I'd go back 

there no never, 
But time has changed de old man, his head 

is bending low, 
His heart's turned back to Dixie, and he 

must go. — Chorus. 

I'm travelling back to Dixie, my step is 

slow and feeble, 
I pray de Lord to help me, and lead me 

from all evil. 
And should my strength forsake me, den 

come kind friends and take me. 
My heart's turned back to Dixie, and I 

must go. — Chorus. 


Oh! love is such a very funny thing. 

And catches the young and old. 
It's just like a plate of boarding-house 

And many a nian it has sold. 
It makes you feel like a fresh water eel. 

And causes your head to swell; 
You lose your mind, for love is blind, 

And it empties your pocket-book as well. 

Chorus — 

Boys keep away from the girls, I say. 

Give them lots of room, 
Or you'll find when you are wed, 
They'll bang you on the head 

With the bald-headed end of a broom. 

When a man is gone on a pretty little girl, 

He talks just as gentle as a dove; 
He spends all his money, and he calls her 
his honey. 
For to show her he is solid on his love. 
When his money is gone, and his clothes 
in hock, 
He finds the old saying it is true. 
That a mole on the arm is worth two on 
the leg. 
But what is he going to do. — Chorus. 

When married folks have lots of cash, 

Their love is firm and strong. 
But when they have to feed on hash, 

Their love don't last so long. 
With a wife and seventeen half-starved 

I tell you it 's no fun 
When the butcher comes around to collect 
his bill 

With a dog and a double barrel gun. 

Young fellows just take my advice 

Don't be in a hurry to wed. 
You think you're in clover till the honey- 
moon is over, 
And then you'll think you're dead. 
With a cross-eyed baby on each knee 

And a wife with a plaster on her nose, 
You'll find true love don't run so very- 
When you have to wear second-hand 

2nd Chorus — 

When your rent is high and your kids be- 
gin to cry 

Because there's no grub to chaw. 
You will holler for your son 
To load up your gun 

While you vaccinate your mother-in-law. 


Come all je people of every kind, 
I will sing you a song concerning the times, 
One and all think they are bright. 
They cheat their neighbors and say that 
it is right, 

And it 's hard times. 

There is the old farmer, he will plow up 

his ground, 
He will put part in cotton and the other 
in corn. 


( ( 

Picked up Here and There." 

He will tip up Ms stilliards to make them 

weigh down, 
And swear it^s good weight if it lacks ten 


And it 's hard times. 

Here is the old overseer, we must not for. 
• get, 

He makes his wages by using his whip, 
He pushes his hands by night and by day, 
And when the year is gone they have run 

And its hard times. 

Here is the old blacksmith, he will and 
he will blow. 

He will make you a plow and also a hoe. 

He says he'll make them for half the 

And when it is done he'll double the ac- 

And it's hard times. 

Here is the old doctor, I'd like to forgot, 
I believe to my soul he is the worst of 

the lot; 
He says he will cure you for half you 

And when you are dead he will take all 

the rest. 

And it is hard times. 

Here is the old tailor, he will cut vou a 

He will cut you a coat and also a vest, 
He says he will cut them for five dollars 

And when it is done he will cabbage the 


And it's hard times. 

Here is the old preacher, he will preach for 

a bowl, 
He will preach for your money and not 

for your soul, 
He rides round his circuit twelve times a 

And if you are lost I'm sure he don't care. 
And it's hard times. 

Here is the lawyer, he says he -will bring 

you out clear. 
He will get up and speak, tell lies and 

And if you are hung for eating some 

I am sure he don't care if he gets his 


And it's hard times. 

Here are the young men, they would if 

they could. 
They want to marry girls, and could if 

they would. 
With old red shoes and an old sack coat. 
And hair on their chins like a Billy goat, 
And it's hard times. 

Here are the young girls, they would if 
they could. 

They want to marry boys, and would if 
they could. 

They will comb back their hair and pow- 
der their face, 

And hide their pipes in a secret place. 
And it's hard times. 

Here are the old widowers in our neigh- 
borhood, / 

They want to marry girls, and would if 
they could. 

They will comb back their hair, brush up 
their shoes. 

And lay down the canes they commonly 

And it's hard times. 


I saw a youth and maiden 
On a lonely city street. 
And thought them lovers at their meet- 
ing place 
Until, as I drew near, I heard the girl's 
sad voice entreat. 

'^Gleanings from the Gullies 

' ) 


The one who heeded not her tear stained 

I only ask you, Jack, to do your duty, 

that is all, 
You know you promised that we should 

be wed. 
And when he said, you shall not want 

whatever may befall 
She spurned the gold he offered her and 

said — 

Ohorus — 

Take back your gold for gold can never 
buy me, 
Take back your bride and promise you'll 
be true, 
Give me the love, the love that you deny 
Make me your wife, that's all I ask of 

He drew her closer to him and to soothe 
her then he tried. 
But she in pride and sorrow turned 
And as he sought to comfort her she wept 
and softly sighed, 
You'll see your cruel action, Jack, some 
Now little one, don't cry, he said, for 
though tonight we part. 
And though another soon will be my 
This gold will help me, to forget, but with 
a breaking heart. 
She spurned the gold he offered her and 
said — 

Take back your !,^oid, for gold can never 
buy me, 
Take back your bride and promise you '11 
be true, 
Give me the love, the love that you denv 
Make me your wife, that's all I ask of 


If I ever get married, I'll marry in June, 
While the fields and meadows are all in 

their bloom, 
And I spied my true love by the light of 

the moon, 
Down by the banks of the Eosa. 

'Her neck and her breast, 'twas almost 

As white as a lilly to compare. 
And the dew was falling fast on her curly 

locks of hair. 
Like rain a falling in the summer. 

Says she, ^'My dearest Willie, don't de- 
tain me long here. 

For my papa and my mama, they are se- 

And if they were to banish their only 
daughter, dear. 
Where would I go for harbor?" 

Your papa and your mama, perhaps they 

would say. 
That I am a drunkard, or some runaway. 
And they'd rather their daughter wouldn't 

live another day 
Than a rake like I should have her. 

In country or in town or whereever I am 

I can drink a glass of brandy or let it 

And as for their pretty daughter they may 
keep her at home. 
And I'll go and court some other. 

Oh! yes you can leave me, I know it very 

But there ' no man on earth I fancy but 

And I never will exchange the old for the 

new — 
My love if you will but believe me. 


i ( 

Picked up Here and There. 


So come, my dearest one, and go along 

with me. — 
Your papa and your mama will soon set 

you free, 
And I'll fold you in my arms and so 

happy we will be, 
Down by the Banks of the Eosa. 


An old man gazed on a photograph in the 

locket he'd worn for years. 
His nephew then asked him the reason why 

that picture had caused him tears; 
Come, listen, he said, I will tell you, lad, a 

story that's strange but true — 
Your father and I at school one day met 

two little girls in blue. 

Eefrain — 

Two little girls in blue, lad, two little girls 

in blue; 
They were sisters, we were brothers, and 

learned to love the two; 
And one little girl in blue, lad, who won 

your father's heart. 
Became your mother; I married the other, 

but we have drifted apart. 

That picture is one of those girls, he said, 

and to me she was once a wife; 
I thought her unfaithful, we quarreled, 

lad, and parted that night for life; 
My fancy of jealousy wronged a heart, a 

heart that was good and true. 
For two better girls never lived than they, 

those two little girls in blue. 

Eefrain — 

Two little girls in blue, lad, two little 

girls in blue; 
They were sisters, we were brothers, and 

learned to love the two; 
And one little girl in blue, lad, who won 

your father *s heart. 
Became your mother; I married the other, 

but we have drifted apart. 


A little maiden climbed on an old man's 

Begged for a story, do uncle please; 
Why are you single? Why live alone? 
Have you no babies? Have you no home? 
I had a sweetheart long years ago; 
Where she is now, pet, you soon shall 

List to the story, I'll tell it all, 
I believed her faithless after the ball. 

Chorus — 

After the ball is over, after the break of 

morn ; 
After the dancers leaving, after the stars 

are gone; 
Many a heart is aching, if you could read 

them all; 
Many the hopes that have vanished, after 

the ball. 

Bright lights were flashing in the grand 

ball room. 
Softly the music, playing sweet tunes, 
There came my sweetheart, my love, my 

own — 
I wished some water, leave me alone. 
When I returned, dear, there stood a man 
Kissing my sweetheart, as lovers can. 
Down fell the glass, pet, broken, that's all. 
Just as my heart was after the ball. 

Long years have passed, child, I've never 

True to my lost love, though she is dead. 
She tried to tell me, tried to explain; 
I would not listen, pleadings were vain, 
One day a letter came from that man — 
He was her brother — the letter ran. 
That's why I'm lonely, no home at all; 
I broke her heart, pet, after the ball. 

^^ Gleanings from the Gullies 




J loathe, abhor, detest, despise, 
Abominate dried apple pies. 
I like good bread, I like good meat, 
Or anything that's good to eat; 
But of all poor grub beneath the skies 
The poorest is dried apple pies. 
The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit 
'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot; 
They leave the hulls to make us cough, 
And don't take half the peeling off. 
Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung. 
And in a garret window hung; 
And there it serves a roost for flies, 
Until it's made up into pies. 
Tread on my corns and tell me lies. 
But don't pass me dried apple pies. 


I wish to put my thoughts in verse. 
And briefly, too, will them rehearse; 
For times and people are changing fast; 
They are not now as in times past. 

Forty or fifty years ago the young 
Were not so glib upon the tongue. 
For if they wished to grow up wise 
The older ones would them advise. 

The boys in those good old days 
Were not allowed to have their ways, 
To carry pistols and a whiskey jug. 
Nor drink lager beer from a large glass 

Nor go off on an excursion train 
And not say when they'd return again; 
But you could see those boys every night 
Seat_ed by the fireplace bright. 

Listening to father and mother's advice, 
And learning how to do work nice 
Upon the farm and in the shop. 
And how the cattle and hogs to slop. 

The girls those days were raised up right; 
They were not drawn with corsets tight. 
Didn't wear slouch hats and hamburg lace, 
And powder smeared all over the face. 

The girls these days would call them rough, 
For they didn't dip ashes and Ralph ^s 

Strong Snuff, 
They wore their dresses neat and plain 
And never had an ache or pain. 

Their hair in ringlets it did hang, 
Combed nice and neat, but not a bang 
Was seen to hide their lovely face, 
But they were raised up with some grace. 

But what has happened, friends, since 

Ten year old boys now think themselves 

They smoke and drink, themsleves abuse, 
Wear stove pipe hats and six dollar shoes. 

They ride bicycles, wear cutaway coats. 

With false beard on the chin like billy 

With a celluloid collar and a gold breast- 

A $20 overcoat from his ankles to his chin. 

The girls o^ today are changing, too. 

In all fashions and shapes, banged hair 

and tight shoes, 
With rings on their fingers and bobs in 

their ears, 
Reading novels and foolishness to banish 

their fears. 


You ought to see the- little girl I took to 

the fancy ball, 
^I'fn around her little waJr-t so neat and 

very small, 
I thought two oysters, sure, her appetite 

would sate, 
Said she wasn't hungry at all, but this is 

what she ate: 



Picked up Here and There." 

Dozen of raw, plate of slaw,, fancy 

Boston roast, 
Big box stew, some crackers too, a 

soft shell crab on toast; 
Next she tried some oysters fried, her 

appetite was immense, 
She asked for pie, I thought IM die, 

for I had but fifty cents. 

After eating all this she smiled so very 

She said she wasn 't hungry a bit, she 

wished that she could eat; 
But the very next order that she gave my 

heart within me sank. 
She said she wasn't thirsty, but this is 

what she drank: 

Brandy and gum, big hot rum, schoon- 
er of lager beer. 

Some whiskey skins, couple of gins did 
quickly disappear. 

Bottle of ale and soda cocktail, aston- , 
ished all the gents, 

She called for more, I feel on the floor 
for I had but fifty cents. 


To finish up this delicate girl cleaned out 

an ice cream can, 
And said, ''Now Sam, I'll tell mama 

yoil're such a nice young man;" 
Said she'd bring her sister along next time 

she came, for fun. 
I handed the man the fifty cents, and this 

is what he done: 

Broke my nose, tore my clothes, 

knocked me out of breath, 
I took the prize for two black eyes, he 

kicked me most to death; 
At every chance he made me dance, 

and fired me o'er the fence, 
Take my advice, don't try it twice, 

when you have but fifty cents. 


'Twas a balmy summer evening, and a 

goodly crowd was there 
That well nigh filled Joe's bar-room on 

the corner of the square, 
And as songs and witty stories came 

through the open door; 
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed 

upon the floor. 

''Where did it come from?" some one 

said; "the wind has blown it in." 
''What does it want," another cried, 

"some whiskey, beer or gin?" 
"Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's 

equal to the work, 
I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as 

filthy as a Turk" 

This badinage the poor wretch took with 

stoical good grace, 
In fact, he smiled as if he thought he'd 

struck the proper place; 
' ' Come, boys, I know there 's kindly hearts 

among so good a crowd; 
To be in such company would make a 

deacon proud." 

"Give me a drink! That's what I want, 

I'm out of funds, you know. 
When I had a cash to treat the gang, this 

hand was never slow"; 
What? You laugh as if you thought this 

pocket never held a sou; 
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any 

one of you. 

"There, thanks, that braced me nicely, 

God bless you, one and all, 
Next time T pass this good saloon I'll 

make another call; 
Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my 

singing days are past, 
My voice is cracked, my throat 's worn out, 

and my lungs are going fast. 

( ( 

Gleanings from the Gidlies." 


^'Bay, give me another whiskey, and 'I '11 '^Why don't you laugh? 'Tis funny that 

tell you what I'll do — 
I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I 

promise, too; 
That I was ever a decent man, not one of 

you would think, 
But I was, some four or five years back, 

say, give us another drink. 

the vagabond you see 
Could ever love a woman and expect her 

love for me; 
But 'twas so, and for a month or two her 

smile was freely given; 
And when her loving lips touched mine, it 

carried me to heaven. 

*^Fiil her up, Joe, I want to put some life 

into my frame — 
Such little drinks to a bum like me are 

miserably tame; 
Five fingers — there, that's the scheme — 

and corking whiskey, too. 
Well, boys, here 's luck, and landlord, my 

best regards to you. 

''Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom 
your soul you 'd give. 

With a form like Milo Venus, too beauti- 
ful to live, 

With eyes that would beat the Kohinoor 
and a wealth of chestnut hair? 

If so, 'twas she, for there never was an- 
other half so fair. 

"^'You've treated me pretty kindly and I'd 
like to tell you how 

I came to be the dirty sot you see before 
you now; 

As I told you, once I was a man, with mus- 
cle, frame and health. 

And, but for a blunder, ought to have 
made considerable wealth. 

''I was working on a portrait one after- 
noon in May, 

Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who 
lived across the way. 

And Madeline admired it, and much to my 

Said that she'd like to know the man that 
had such dreamy eyes. 

*'I was a painter — not one that daubed 
bricks and wood. 

But an artist, and for my age, was rated 
pretty good; 

I worked hard at my canvas, and was bid- 
ding fair to rise; 

For gradually I saw the star of fame be- 
fore my eyes. 

''I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 

'tis called the Chase of Fame; 
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and 

added to my name; 
And then I met a woman — now comes the 

funny part — 
With eyes that petrified my brain, and 

sunk into my heart. 

"It didn't take long to know him, and 

before the month had flown. 
My friend had stole my darling, and I was 

left alone; 
And ere a year of misery had passed above 

my head. 
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished 

and was dead. 

"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why 

I never saw you smile, 
I thought you'd be amused and laughing 

all the while; 
Why, what's the matter, friend? There's 

a tear-drop in your eye. 
Come, laugh like me, 'tis only babes and 

women that should cry. 



Picked up Here and There.'' 

''Say, boys, if you'll give me another 
whiskey, I'll be glad, 

And I'll draw right here, the picture of 
the face that drove me mad; 

Give me that piece of chalk with which you 
mark the baseball score — ' 

And you shall see the lovely Madeline 
upon the bar_room floor." 

Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the 
vagabond began 

To sketch a face that well might buy the 
soul of any man. 

Then, as he placed another lock upon the 
shapely head. 

With a fearful shriek he leaped and fell 
across the picture — dead. 



In a very humble cot. 
In a rather quiet spot. 
In the suds and in the soap 
Worked a woman full of hope; 
Working, singing, all alone. 
In a sort of undertone: 
'^With a Saviour for a friend. 
He will keep me to the end." 

Not in sorrow nor in glee, 
Working all day long was she. 
As her children, three or four, 

P.'ayed around her on the floor; 
But in monotones the song. 
She was humming all day long, 
''With the Saviour for a friend, 
He will keep me to the end. ' ' 

It's a song I do not sing, 
Tor I scarce believe a thing 
Of the stories that are told 
Of the miracles of old; 
But I know that her belief 
Is the anodyne of grief 
And will always be a friend 
That will keep her to the end. 

J"u?t a trifle lonesome she, 
Just as poor as poor could be; 
But her spirits always rose 
Like the bubbles in the clothes. 
And, though widowed and alone. 
Cheered her with the monotone 
Of a Saviour and a friend 
Who would keep her to the end. 

I have seen her rub and scrub 
On the washboard in the tub. 
While the baby sopped in suds, 
Rolled and tumbled in the duds. 
Or was paddling in the pools 
With old scissors stuck in spools, 
She still humming of her friend 
Who would keep her to the end. 

Sometimes, happening along, 
I had heard the semi-song, 
And I often used to smile. 
More in sympathy than guile; 
But I never said a word 
In regard to what I heard. 
As she sang about her friend 
Who would keep her to the end. 

Human hopes and human creeds 
Have their root in human needs; 
And I would not wish to strip 
From that washerwoman's lip 
Any song that she can sing, 
Any hope that song can bring; 
For the woman has a friend 
Who will keep her to the end. 


Gleanings from the Gullies.' 



By An Unknown Writer. 

Sometimes I dream. 

I see a waving field beneath a blue sky, 
^an orchard, a garden, a nestling cottage — 
my home. 

I love a woman, beautiful, clear-eyed, 
straight-limbed, dauntless. My bride. My 

About are children. The music of their 
play mingles with the gentle breeze. 
There are two or three — no, four or five, 
perhaps six. They look like me; they look 
like her. They call me father. They do 
not fear me. They do not obey me. They 
love me and seek my counsel. 

I tickle the soil, and it laughs a golden 
harvest. I plow, I reap, I chop, I make 
things. I work and get honest pay. 

My neighbor is honest He is truthful. 
He is not a parasite. He also works. He 
also smiles. He does not wheedle his liv- 
from man, woman or child. 

I pay no taxes, no tribute to a lying, 
hypocritical, grafting Government. Men 
have learned to trust their fellows. 

I grow old. She grows old. My boys 
are stronger, wiser, nobler than I My 
girls are as tender, as true, as beautiful as 

We have achieved success; nature's trust 
is fulfilled. 

The chill of the grave is creeping o'er 
n.p ' The ele-ments of individuality are 
about to dissemble. I look into her eyes. 
She is satisfied. ■! am satisfied. 

The glittering irysteries of the heavens 
do not perplex :ne. I know not and care 

I am to die. I am not afraid, for I have 
guessed the riddle of the ages; the secret 
is mine; my children live. They are I; 
they 'are she. \ 

Forward we go in them, climbing poster- 
ity's ladder of evolution until in the cycle 
of the centuries she and I may meet, clasp 
hands with the old magic thrill and then 
will come memory; and then we will know 
we have reached the perfect land, the 
Seventh Heaven, Its geographical name 
may be Chicago. That whisp of fancy, 
that phantom of the cloister, will then be 

I am dying, I care not, for I have lived. 
My link in nature's chain is welded. 

No priest supplicates the unknown; 'tis 
needless. Sinking into the nothing from 
which I sprang, I leave grim Hades in the 
scrap heap of existence. 

I die. I live — many-fold. I mingle with 
the trees, the flowers, the cloud, the rock,, 
the ocean. 

My soul goes marching on. 


A Temperance Recitation 

''My dear friends," said the doctor, 

''I favor license for selling of rum. 
These fanatics tell us with horror 

Of the mischief liquor has done. 
I say, as a man and physician, 

The system's requirements are such, 
That unless we at times assist nature 

The bodv and mind suffer much. 

'' 'Tis a blessing when worn out and weary 

A moderate drink now and then." 
From the minister by the pulpit 

Came an audible murmur: ^'Amen! 
'Tis true that many have fallen. 

Become filthy drunkards and worse — 
Harmed others. No, I don't uphold them, 

They made their blessing a curse. 


'^ Picked up Here and There." 

"Should we be denied for their sinning? 

Should the weak ones govern the race? 
Why, every ^ood thing God has given 

Is only a curse out of place. 
'Tis only excess that destroys us, 

A little is good now and then." 
From the white-haired, pious old deacon 
Came a fervent, loud-spoken. ''Amen!" 

A murmur rose up from the people. 

From the midst of that listening throng. 
They had come from their homes 

With the purpose to crush out and tram- 
, pie out wrong. 
But their time_honored, worthy physician, 

Grown portly in person and purse. 
Had shown in the demon of darkness 

A blessing instead of a curse. 

And now they were eager, impatient 

To vote when the moment should come. 
They thought it their right and duty 

To license the selling of rum. 
Then up from a seat in the corner. 

From the midst of that listening throng 
Who had come from their homes with a 

To crush out and trample out wrong, 

Rose a woman; her thin hands uplifted 

And from out her frost-covered hair 
Gazed a face of such agonized whiteness, 

A face of such utter despair. 
The vast throng grew hushed in a moment 

Were silent with^ terror and dread. 
They gazed on the face of that woman 

As we gaze on the face of the dead. 
Then the hush and the silence were broken, 

A voice so shrill and so clear 
Rang out through the room: "Look uj)on 

You wonder what chance brought me 


You know me and now you shall hear me. 

I speak to you lovers of wine; 
For once I was young, rich and handsome. 

Home, husband and children were mine. 

Where are they? I ask you, where are 
False teacher of God's holy word, 
My husband, my kind, loving husband. 

Whom my pray&rs and my tears might 

have stirred. 
Remembered your teachings, turned from 

Me kneeling and pleading with him. 

'Twas a God-given blessing, you told him, 
And only excess was sin. 

''And where are my boys? God forgive 
They heeded your counsel, not mine. 

You, doctor, beloved and respected, 
Could see no danger in wine 

For my boys so proud and so manly. 

How could I hope ever to win 
When their doctor said 'twas a blessing 

And only excess was sin. 

"My husband, so noble and manly; 
My boys, so proud and so brave, 

They lie side by side in the churchyard, 
Each filling a drunkard's grave. 

I have come from the poorhouse to tell 
My story, and now it is done. 

Go on, if you will, in your madness, , 
And license the selling of rum. 

Before the great judgment eternal, 
When the last dread moment has come. 
They'll stand there to witness against you, 

My dear ones, the victims of rum. 
When the shadows of earth are lifted, 

And lif e 'i- secret thcuo'lits are laid bare, 
By the throne of the Great Eternal 

I shall witness against you there." 


Gleanings from the Gullies. 



You see, there are things you can govern, 

But hearts have a way of their own; 
Like birds they fly, and you can 't tell why. 

And you never miss them till gone. 
And — why, I don't tell the story — 

If the reason you really must learn, 
Though my heart took flight with the 
summer, bright, 

Yet I won no heart in return. 

And the loss that I met results in this: 

That mine is a lonely part; 
For you can't for you life make a loving 

Of a woman without a heart. 
Another head rests on the manly breast 

That I wanted to shelter me; 
Some other fair face has won my place. 

So no man's wife I'll be. 
Somebody's eyes were gentle and kind, 

His voice was tender and low; 
But the heart that I wanted was given 

Ever so long ago. 
And so, while I solace my lonely life. 

With a cat and a cup of tea. 
Somebody's arm is around his wife. 

And her baby is on his knee. 

But compensation's the law of life, 

And though trials the gods may senci, 
There's no one to scold when the beef- 
steak's cold. 

And no small stockings to mend. 
So the love that was lost I never regret. 

When I think what my tri^ils might be, 
When dinner is late I smile at fate, 

And nobody storms at me! 


I know not what the name will be 
Which Christ my Lord will give to me. 
When at my journey's end I stand 
Within the gates of Beulah Land. 

That name so sweet in heavenly tone 
My Lord will give to me alone. 
That name will suit my saved soul — 
My ransomed name — while ages roll. 

That name will mean, in Heaven 's speech, 
The greatest love my soul could reach; 
And deepest sin, rebellious ways, 
From these redeemed, I'll sing His praise. 

That name will mean that service new 
Which Christ will give to me to do. 
No other soul my Lord will ask 
To do my soul's peculiar task. 

When that blest name my Lord shall speak, 
With love and joy his face I'll seek. 
Eedeemed from earthly sin and shame, 
I'll answer to my heavenly name. 

Mount Hermon, Mass. 



Sit down by the side of your mother, my 
You have only a moment, I know; 
But you will stay till I give you my part- 
ing advice, 
'Tis all that I have to bestow. 

You leave us to seek for employment, my 
But the world you have yet 'to be tried; 
But in all the temptations and struggles 
you meet ' 

May your heart in the Saviour confide. 

You will find in your satchel a Bible, my 
^Tis the book of all others the best; 
It will teach you to live, it will help you 
to die. 
And lead to the gates of the blest. 



Picked up Here and There." 

I gave you to God in your cradle, my boy, 
I have taught you the best that I knew; 
And as long as His mercy permits me to 
I shall never cease praying for you. 

Hold fast to the right, hold fast to the 
Wlierever your footsteps may roam; 
Oh, forsake not the way of salvation, my 
That you learned from your mother at 

Your father is coming to bid you good-bye. 
Oh, how lonely and sad we shall be; 

But when far from the scenes of child- 
hood and youth, 
You'll think of your father and me. 

I want you to feel every word I have said, 
For it came from the depths of my love; 
And, my boy, if we never behold you on 
Will you promise to meet us above? 



How bright was the happy home circle, 

That gathered in years that are gone; 
When the toils of the day were all ended 
Each night 'round the cherry hearth- 
And tie glittering waves of the firelight 
Shone out with a gladness for all, 
And lit up the faces of loved ones 

Whose shadows were cast on the wall. 

Chorus — 

'Tis broken, the happy home circle. 

And Lushed are the voices of mirth. 
They are gone, all the loved and dear 
The fire burns low on the hearth. 

How sweet was the sound of their voices, 

When all of that once happy throng, 
United around the old heartstone, 

To join in the praises of song. 
And gently the gleam of the firelight. 

Its radiance shed soft over all, 
As humbly in prayer they were kneeling. 

While shadows bent low on the wall. 


But drear is the once cherry fireside. 

And sad is the heart now alone. 
While the old-fashioned clock on the man- 

Ticks out its slow measured drone. 
And the fluttering, glimmering embers 

Shine dimly and faint as they fall 
On the hearth where the loved ones onc& 

Whose shadows are missed on the wall. 



A, bar to heaven, a door to hell; 
Whoever named it named it well. 
A bar to manliness and wealth, 
A door to want and broken health; 
A bar to honor, pride and fame, 
A door to want and grief and S'jame; 
A bar to hope, a. bar to prayer, 
^ door to darkness and despair; 
A bar to honored, useful life, 
A door to brawling, senseless strife; 
A bar to all that's true and brave; 
A door to every drunkard's g>'ave; 
A bar to joys that home imparts: 
A door to tears and aching hearts; 
A bar to heaven, a door to hell. 
Whoever named it named it well. 

^'Gleanings from the Gullies. 




By Amelia Josephine Burr, 

Of the Vigilantes. 

Broken with pain and weariness 

And sapped with vile disease, 
Back to the land of ruined towns, 

Of murdered men and trees. 
Through Switzerland from Germany 

The trains of wreckage ran, — 
And on the French frontier they found 

A Red Cross Man. 

And when to what had once been home 

Those haggard exiles came, 
Young wheat was green above the scars 

Of steel and blood and flame 
Round new built houses where once more 

The work of life began. 
And still they found to welcome them 

A Red Cross Man. 

There the husband clasped again 

The wife he mourned as dead — 
The child was on its mother's breast, 

The old were comforted. 
What wonder if they hope to find 

The Angel of God's Plan 

Who meets them at the heavenly gate 

A Red Cross Man! 


Some people believe in fighting, 

And quarreling all the time; 
But I think it best to be at peace. 

And higher up to climb. 

Because our stay on earth is short. 

With father, sister, mother; 
We should live in peace while here. 

And each one love our brother. 

There are people in the city, 
Who need our presence there — 
To sympathize with them. 
And with them shed a tear. 




I had a friend 

I loaned him 10 
I haven't seen 

My friend since then. 


Another one 

Touched me for 5 
I wonder if 

He's still alive. 


Went on a note 

To help a third 
He must be dead 

I haven't heard. 


I guess it's true 

That in the end 
A fellow is V 

His own best friend. 

C. E. B. 


We may not climb the heavenly steeps 
To bring the Lord Christ down; 

In vain we search the lowest deeps. 
For him no depths can drown. 

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet 

A present Help is he; 
And faith has still its Olivet, 

And love its Galilee. 

The healing of the seamless dress 

Is by our beds of pain; 
We touch him in life 's throng and press^ 

And we are whole again. 



''Picked up Here and There 

' } 


By Joseph Sigmund. 
Have you ever stopped to ponder 

^'What fools we mortals be" 
Who search for !-in and sorrow 

In a world so full of glee? 

Have you ever stopped to wonder 
Why what pleases you the least 

Would to optimistic natures 
Prove a veritable feast? 

And have you ever pondered 

Why we grieve and pine and fret 

With the friends of our dear childhod 
True and loyal to us yet? 

Look around you and then wonder 
Why you have congenial work, 

While so many idly suffer 

Who no menial job would shirk. 

Look around you and then ponder 
Why the Good One up on high 

Should bless you with more wisdom 
Than that imbecile close by. 

Swing around, my dear Complainer, 
Swing around and face the sun, 

And for every ounce of sadness 
You will find a pound of fun. 

Life is what you make it, Brother. 

If you nurse complaints, they grow. 
Sooner cultivate contentment. 

You will reap just what you sow. 


If every heart were quickened 

To feel another's wrong. 
Then living would be loving 

And life would be a song. 

— ^Baltimore American. 


In the bitter waves of woe. 

Beaten and tossed about 
By the sullen winds that blow 

From the desolate shores of doubt, 
When the anchors that faith had cast 

Are dragging in the gale, 
I am quietly holding fast 

To the things that cannot fail, 
I know that right is right, 

That it is not good to lie. 
That love is better that spite, 

And a neighbor than a spy. ; 

I know that passion needs 

The leash of sober mind; 
I know that generous deeds 

Some sure reward will find; 
That the rulers must obey, 

That the givers shall increase; 
That Duty lights the way 

For the beautiful feet of Peace. 
In the darkest night of the year. 

When the stars have all gone out. 
That courage is better than fear. 

That faith is truer than doubt 
And fierce though the fiends may fight. 

And long though the angels hide, 
I know that Truth and Right 

HaA^e the universe on their side. 
And that somewhere beyond the stars 

Is a love that is better than fate. 
When the night unlocks her bars, 

I shall see Him, and I will wait. 

— Washington Gladden (Exchange). 


Four things a man must learn to do 
If he would keep his record true; 
To think without confusion clearly j 
To love his fellow men sincerely; 
To act from honest motives purely; 
To trust in God and heaven securely. 



Gleanings from the Gullies,' 


If you can keep your head when all about 
Are losing their 's and blaming it on you; 
If you can trust yourself when all men 
doubt you. 
But make allowance for their doubting, 
If you can wait and not be tired of 
Or being lied about, don 't deal in lies. 
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating. 
And yet don't look too good, nor talk 
too wise; 

If you can dream — and not make dreams 
your master; 
If you can think — and not make thoughts 
your aim; 
If you can meet with triumph and disaster 
And treat those two impostors just the 
If you can bear to hear the truth you've 
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for 
Or watch the things you gave your like to 

And stoop and build 'em up with worn- 
out tools; 

If you can make one heap of all your win- 
And risk it on one turn of pitch and toss, 
And lose, and start again at your begin- 
And never breathe a word about your 
If you can force your heart and nerve and 
To serve your turn long after they are 
And so hold on when there is nothing in 
Except the will which says to them: 
''Hold on!'' 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your 
Or walk with kings — nor lose the com- 
mon touch; 
If iieither foes nor loving friends can hurt 
If all men count with you, but none 
too much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 
With sixty seconds' worth of distance 
Tours is the earth and everything that's^ 
in it. 
And — ^which is more — you'll be a man,, 
my son! 



My paw comes whistlin' home at night 

And swingin' his tin pail 
That mother puts his lunches in. 

And jumps the creakin' rail 
On our back fence, and shouts: "Hallo! 

You sure look good to me!" 
And '' Where's your mother, little son?*' 

And smiles all twinklunly. 

Then after tea he says: ''Come on 

And have our heart-to-heart!" 
I tell him all about the day. 

Eight from the very start! 
And he's as pleased as he can be, 

As if I wuz a man 
His own size, talkin' serusly 

About some 'portant plan! 

And mother lissens with her eyes. 

And dries the dishes, too, 
And paw, he says: ^'Im feeling rich- 

Because I've got you two!" 
And then we play most everything. 

And have the greatest fun. 
Till paw takes out his watch and says:: 

"My, how this evening's gone!" 



( c 

Picked up Here and There 

' > 

And then we get the Bible down, 

And have our evening prayers, 
Then paw he lights my little lamp 

And comes with me upstairs; 
And then he kisses me good-night, 

The longest, slowest way, 
And tells me kind of deep and low: 

**IVe lived for this all day!" 

— Amy E. Campbell. 


Do you wish the world were better? 

Let me tell you what to do — 
Set a watch upon your actions: 

Keep them always straight and true, 
Bid your mind of selfish motives; 

Let your thoughts be clean and high; 
You can make a little Eden 

Of the sphere you occupy. 

Do you wish the world to be wiser? 

Well, suppose you make a start 
By accumulating wisdom 

In the scrap-book of your heart. 
Do not waste one page in folly; 

Live to learn and learn to live; 
If you want to increase knowledge. 

You must get ere you can give. 

Do you wish the world were better? 

Then remember day by day 
■Just to sow the seeds of kindness 

As you pass along the way. 
For the pleasure of the many 

May be ofttimes traced to one. 
As the hand that plants the acorn 

Shelters armies from the suu. 


Worry less and work more, 
Eide less and walk more^ 
Frown less and laugh more, 
Eat less and chew more. 
Preach less and practice more. 


There are few rewards remaining 

For the man who doesn't care 
And has no wish to be gaining 

Skill or knowledge he may spare; 
But the world becomes his debtor 

Who is keen to find a way 
To perform his task some better 

Than he did it yesterday. 

There are plodders, poor and humble, 

Who approach their work with dread, 
And they lag along and grumble 

At the ones who pass ahead; 
Then consent to putter sadly 

While their masters are in sight, 
And, without delay, they gladly 

Toss their tools aside at night. 

There are men who must be driven 

To the tasks they have to do; 
Few the joys they shall be given 

And their profits will be few; 
But the world becomes his debtor 

Who is keen to" find a way 
To perform his task some better 

Than he did it yesterday. 


I asked my papa why the world 

Is round instead of square, 
And why the piggies' tails are curled, 

And why fish don 't breathe air. 
And why the moon don 't hit a star, 

And why the dark is black, 
And just how many birds there are. 

And will the wind come back. 

And why a horse can 't learn to moo, 

And why a cow can't neigh. 
And do the fairies live on dew, 

And what makes hair grow gray, 
And then my pa got up an ', oh. 

The bffful words he said! 
r hadii 't done a thing, but he 

Jest sen' me off to bed! 

^^ Gleanings from the Gullies 




A gentleman of good account 
In Norfolk dwelt of late, 

Who did in honor far surmount 
Most men of his estate. 

Sore sick he was and like to die, 
No help his life could save; 

His wife by him as sick did lie. 
And both, possessed one grave. 

No love between these two was lost, ^ 

Each was to other kind; 
In love they lived, in love they died. 

And left two babes behind. 

The one, a line and pretty boy, 
Not passing three years old. 

The other, a girl more young than he,. 
And framed in beauty's mold. 

The father left his little son, 

As plainly doth appear, 
When he to perfect age should eome, 

Three hundred pounds a jei^. 

And to his little daughter, Jane, 
Five hundred pounds iu gold. 

To be paid down on her marriage-day. 
Which might not be controlled. 

These words then did their brother speak 

To this sick couple there: 
''The keeping of your little ones, 

Sweet sister, do not fear; 

''God never prosper me nor mine. 

Nor aught else that I have. 
If I do wrong your children dear. 

When you are in the grave. '^ 

The parents being dead and gone. 

The children home he takes. 
And brings them straight into his house. 

Where much of them he makes. 

He had not kept these pretty babes 

A twelvemonth and a day, 
When for their wealth he did devise 

To put them both away. 

He bargained with two ruffians strong. 

Which were of furious mood. 
That they should take these children young 

And slay them in the wood. 

He told his wife an artful tale; 

He would the children send 
To be brought up in London fair. 

With one that was his friend. 

But if the children chance should die 
Ere they to age should come. 

Their uncle should possess their wealth, 
For so the will did run. 

"Now, brother, '' said the dying man, 
''Look to my children dear; 

Be good unto my boy and girl. 
No friends else have they here.^' 

Away then went those pretty babes,, 

Eejoicing at that tide, 
Eejoieing with a merry mind. 

They should on horseback ride. 

They both did prattle pleasantly 

As they rode on the way. 
To those that should their butchers be,. 

And work their lives' decay. 

And up bespake their mother, dear, 
"-O brother kind!" quoth she, 

"You are the man must bring our babes 
To wealth or misery. ' ' 

So that the pretty speech they had 
Made murder's heart relent, 

And they that undertook the deed 
Full sore did now repent. 



Picked up Here and There'' 

Tet one of them, more hard of heart, 

Did vow to do his charge, 
Because the wretch that hired him 

Had paid him very large. 

The other won't agree thereto, 

So here they fall to strife. 
With one another they did fight 

About the children's life. 

His barns were fired, his goods consumed, 

His lands were barren made; 
His cattle died within the field, 

And nothing with him stayed. 

And in the voyage to Portugal 

Two of his sons did die, 
And to conclude, himself was brought 

To want and misery. 

And he that was of mildest mood, 

Did slay the other there, 
Within an unfrequented wood — 

The babes did quake with fear. 

He took the children by the hand, 

Tears standing in their eye. 
And bade them straightway follow him; 

And look they did not cry, ^ 

And two long miles he led them on, 

While they for food complain; 
' ' Stay here, ' ' quoth he, ' ' I '11 bring 


When I come back again. 


Those pretty babes with hand in hand 
Went wandering up and down, 

But never more could see the man 
Approaching from the town. 

Thus wandered, those poor innocents 
Till death did end their grief; 

In one another's arms they died, 
As wanting due relief. 

He pawned and mortgaged all his land 
Ere seven years came about. 

And now at length this wicked act 
Did by this means come out. 

The fellow that did take in hand 

These children for to kill. 
Was for a robbery judged to die — 

Such was God's blessed will; 

Who -did confess the very truth 
As here hath been displayed. 

The uncle having died in jail. 
Where he for debt was laid. 

)-4 .:' ■ 

You that executors be made, 

And overseers eke 
Of children that be fatherless. 

And infants mild and meek, 

Take you example by this thing. 
And yield to each his right. 

Lest God, with sach like misery. 
Your wicked minds requite. 

No burial this pretty pair 

Of any man receives. 
Till robin redbreast piously 

Did cover them with leaves. 

And now the heavy wrath of God 

Upon their uncle fell; 
Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house; 

His conscience felt in hell! 


Oh, don't you remember, a long time ago. 
Two poor little babes — their names I don't 

know — 
Were stolen away one bright summer day, 
And lost in the woods, I've heard people 


'' Gleanings from the Gullies. 



And when it was night, oh, sad was the 
sight I 

The moon soon went down, and the stars 
gave no light; 

They sobbed and they sighed, and they bit- 
terly cried, 

Then these i)oor little babes they just lay 
down and died. 

And when they were dead, the robin so red. 
Brought strawberry leaves and over them 

And sang them a song through all the day 

long — 
These poor little babes, who never did 


I know a little traveler. 

Who, every single night 
Starts on a long, long journey. 

That lasts till broad daylight. 

Her ticket reads '^Sleeptown Express," 
Stamped ^'Papa's G-ood-night Kiss" 

And when she pays him with a hug 
He says: '^I thank you. Miss. 

**Jnst take the berth marked 'Dreamy- 
You mount it by the stairs. 
Make haste, because the train should start 
Soon as you've said your prayers. 

"Remember, too, on this express 

You tightly close your eyes; 
And no one reaches Sleepy Town 

Who talks or laughs or cries. 

**So when the sandman engineer 

His engine bell has rung, 
The passenger from Sleepy Town 

Must surely hold her tongue. 

**Be ready, then, to jump aboard; 

Kiss mother at the gate. 
It's after half -past seven and 

The train is due at eight. ' ' 


While I sit here by the fire, 
And play a tune on my guitar, 
I think of David as I start — 
A man after God's own heart. 

How he played his harp so sweet, 

To all the people he did meet; 

So we see him after awhile, 

With a sad countenance and 'no smile. 

Because he had that good man slain. 
It grieved his heart and gave him pain; 
And so you see I'm writing deep, 
David sowed and had to reap. 

He prayed to God to forgive his sin, 

So he could commence again 

To teach the transgressors the way of 

That his heart might be at ease. 

So in conclusion I will say. 
While we have time let us all pray; 
And with each other be in love, 
That we may reach that home above. 

Where the blessed Saviour has gone before. 
To prepare us a home on that bright shore, 
Where we can sing and shout God's praise, 
And be with him through endless days. 



Written for Rural Home, by Portia Black. 

Gee, I hate to have him go. 
I just love pa's Uncle Joe. 
Only guest we ever had 
Who's not said that I was bad. 

He's been West for thirty years 
Digging mines and punching steers. 
Dad once lived with Uncle Joe, 
Who said ; ' ' How the years do go ! • 



Picked up Here and There.'' 

I can see you now again. 
Bill is just as you were then.'' 
''No/' I said, ''I'm not like dad; 
He was good and I am bad." 

Never once since that first day 
Has lie had a word to say 
Of how good he used to be 
When he was the size of me. 

Just then my dad heard a noise 
That he thought was prowling boys 
"Went out on the lawn to look. 
Uncle Joe picked up a book. 

Pa called to him very soon 
To come out and view the moon. 
I went too, but my dad said 
It was time I went to bed. 

Only time I ever knew 

Him to fail to say 'twas true 

That he never sat up late 

When he wasn't more than eight. 

I was glad when morning came, 
Somewhat worried just the same, 
For at dinner Uncle Joe, 
Almost choked to death, I know. 

I'd upset a cup of tea. 
Dad lookde very fierce at me. 
Said no one had ever seen 
His tablecloth aught but clean. 

Just as the last word he spok« 
Uncle Joe began to choke. 
Must have been the apple pie 
Gee, I'm glad he didn't die! 

Oh, we've had some jolly times. 
Uncle Joe has lots of dimes, 
And my dad's been awful kind. 
Never let his uncle find 

That I do the things I do. 
I admit that they are true. 
Dad was awful good, you know. 
When he lived with Uncle Joe. 

When I told uncle ''Good-by'^ 
I said: "I'm going to try 
To do, when I visit you, 
Just as my dad used to do." 

On my head he placed his hand. 
Said to dad, "Won't that be grand?" 
Kissed me and said, "Little man, 
I doubt much if mortal can." 

Said he: "Look ahead and try 
To be good so by and by 
You will be as dad is now. 
That's worth trying, anyhow." 


By Samuel WHberforce. 
Lord, for tomorrow and its needs 

I do not pray; 
Keep me from any stain of sin 

Just for today; 
Let me be kind in word and deed 

Just for today, 
Let me be slow to do my will — 

Prompt to obey. 

Help me to sacrifice myself 

Just for today. 
Let me no wrong nor idle word 

Unthinking say — 
Set thou Thy seal upon my lips, 
Just for today. 
So for tomorrow and its needs 

I do not pray, 
But keep me, guide me, hold me Lord, 

Just for today. 


Gleanings from the Gullies 




"We shall do so much in -the year to come, 

But what have we done today? 
We shall give our gold in a princely sum, 

But what did we give today? 
We shall lift the heart and dry the tear, 
We shall plant a hope in the place of fear, 
We shall speak the words of love and 
But what did we speak today? 

We shall be so kind in the after-a-while, 

But what have we been today? 
We shall bring to each lonely life a smile, 

But what have we brought today? 
We shall give to truth a grander birth. 
And to steadfast faith a deeper worth, 
We shall feed the hungering souls of earth, 
But whom have we fed today? 

We shall reap such joys in the by and by, 
But what have we sown today? 

We shall build us mansions in the sky, 
But what have we built today? 

*Tis sweet in the idle dreams to bask. 

But here and now do we do our task? 

Yes, this is the thing our soul must ask: 
''What have we done today?'' 

I *'lt the good were only better, would the 
wicked be so bad?'' 
Thus a wise and earnest Christian puts a 
question, weighty, sad. 

If the good were only better, 'tis a thought 

that will not down. 
For the good to all their goodness still 

may set a richer crown. 

If the good were only better, if to actual 

goodness won 
They would add the larger total of the 

good that's left undone; 

If the good were only better, if to virtue 

well attained 
They would give the ampler measure of 

new virtue daily gained; 

If the good were only better, if with faults 

but half subdued, 
They would wage a stouter warfare boldly 

every day renewed; 

If the good were only better, if Christ's 

people everywhere 
Were more like their Lord and Saviour, 

loving, pure and oft in prayer; 

If the good were only better, jf for grace 

each hour bestowed 
Still more grace should be their craving 

as they tread the heavenly road; 

If the good were only better, climbing up- 
ward day by day 

With the Master's blest approval cheer- 
ing all the toilsome way; 

If the good were only better, then the 

wicked taking note 
Might be touched with better feeling and 

their lives to God devote; 

If the good were only better, better all 

the world would be. 
And our Lord the full fruition of his life 

and death would see. 


Now reader, go along with me, 
Away back to Eternity; 
Go back beyond the days of youth. 
Where everything that was, was truth. 

Beyond the sorrow and the tears, 
Beyond the suffering and fears, 
Beyond the anguish and the gloom, 
Beyond the shadow of the tomb. 



Picked up Here and There.'' 

Beyond all trouble and all pain, 
Beyond all losses and all gain, 
Beyond all sobs and bitter sighs, 
Beyond the limit of the skies. 

Before there was a ray of light, 
Before there was a day or night, 
Before a prayer was ever prayed. 
Before the world was ever made. 

Before there was a moon, or sun. 
Before old time itself begun; 
Before there was a now, or then. 
Before there was a where, or when. 

Before there was a 'here,' or 'there' 

Or anything, or anywhere; 

Go back a hundred thousand years. 

And farther still, though filled with fears. 

Go back until within the past, 
You fail to find the place at last 
Where the beginning you can see, 
At one end of Eternity. 

Go back until there's not a trace 
Of anything, but God and space; 
God all around, below, above; 
Unlimited in power and love. 

Away back here removed from sight, 
Where everything that was was right; 
Away back here removed from sin. 
Is where my story does begin. 


What matters it, if joy or grief 

Should fall into our portion? 
If happiness is only brief 

As fleeting as misfortune? 
At any rate, the self.sane fate 

Stands at the verge before us, 
'Tis but a little while to wait. 

His shadow settles o'er us. 
'Tis just as well to wear a smile 

And all life's tempests weather 
Untroubled, in a little while 

We'll all be dead together. 

What matters it? A few days more. 

The chapter may be ended, 
Across oblivion's soundless shore 

Our dreams will be blended 
However we seek to mend our lot. 

In spite of our endeavor, 
We age, we die, and are forgotten, 

Forever and forever. 
'Tis just as well to be content. 

Nor seeks to break the. leather 
That binds us. When the years are spent, 

We'll all be dead together. 

William Brickey 
Our God is a God of wondrous love. 
Who sits on his jasper throne above; 
But his loving works on the earth are seen 
In the verdant fields of living green. 
And the tiny flowers with mute appeal, 
That a heart of adamant may feel. 
And the twittering birds in the wayside 

Tell the traveling pilgrim, ''God is love." 

Each thunder-peal from the storm-girt 

Where the lightnings flash from their 

dusky shroud. 
Is the voice of .the mighty God on high. 
As he speaks in love from the low 'ring 

That pours its rain on the thirsty soil, 
That smiles as it brings forth corn and oil 
In response to the voice from heaven 

And the eart re-echoes, "God is love." 

Yea, God is love, and his works are true, 
And his mercies every day are new. 
For the earth is full of his loving ways, 
And the heavens o 'erflow with celestial 

But eternity will be too short 
To tell all the glories of his court; 
At his loving word all the planets move. 
And the universe cries out, "God is love." 


Gleanings from the Gullies.'' 



When first I heard of holiness, I tho't it 
must be right; 

It seemed to fit the Bible, and be the 
Christian's light; 

I heard the people singing and testifying, 

They semed to love their Saviour as Chris- 
tians ought to do. 

Chorus — 

We'll sing, and we'll preach. 

We'll preach the way of holiness so 
We'll sing and we'll preach 

Till our blessed loving Saviour's face 
we view. 

L went to camp meeting and heard them 
preach and sing 

They surely preached the Bible, and made 
the welcome ring; 

It made me think of heaven, the Chris- 
tian's home on high; 

Where we will live forever, and never, 
never die, 

I, little thought of being one, I said I 
could not stand, 

To be among that people, they called the 

^'holy band;" 
The world looked down upon them, and 

said they were so rash; 
They • often spoke against them, and said 

they were but trash. 

But as I went to hear them, and saw the 

way they did, 
I saw they had a treasure, from worldly 

people hid; 
They seemed to be' so happy, and filled 

with Christian love, 
When people talked about them, they only 

looked above. 

My heart began to hunger, and thirst and 

burn within; 
I wanted full salvation — a freedom from 

all sin; 
I went to God for holiness, and called upon 

His name; 
He cleansed my heart completely, and 

filled it with the same. 

And now I'm one who bears that name, 

that happy, holy band; 
I've crossed the river Jordan, I'm in the 

Canaan land. 
The atmosphere is pleasant, and fruit of 

every kind: 
When you reach heaven's portals, I'll 

not be far behind. 

Just as I am. Thine own to be 
Friend of the young. Who lovest me — 
To consecrate myself to Thee, 
O Jesus Christ, I come. 

In the glad morning of my day, 
My life to give, my vows to .pay. 
With no reserve, and no delay — 
With all my heart, I come. 

I would live ever in the light, 
I would work ever for the right, 
I would serve Thee with all my might — 
Therefore to Thee I come. 

Just as I am, young, strong and free. 
To be the best that I can be. 
For truth, and righteousness, and Thee, 
Lord of my life, I come. 

Not heeding dreams of fame or gold. 
Success and Joy to make me bold; 
But dearer still — my faith to hold 
For my whole life — I come. 

And for Thy sake not seek renown, 
At last to take the victor's crown. 
And at Thy feet to lay it down, 
O Master, Lord, I come. 



Picked up Here and There.*' 


Ed. Blair, Spring Hil, Kan. 


When it gits dry in Kansas 

It does the thing up right! 

The 'vegetation sizzles up; 

It "s jes ' a perfect sight. 
The cattle stand and bellow, 

And some folks do the same; 
It's mighty hard to tell which crowd's 

The noisiest at the game. 
When it gits dry in Kansas 

The catfish go 'n' hide 
Away down in the mucky mud, 

To keep from bein' dried; 
'N' thin, white clouds that look jes' like 

A cut-up cotton batt 
All frazzled out, go floatin' roun' 

No bigger than a hat. 
When it gits dry in Kansas 

The Chinee bugs multiply, 
'N' hoppers fly up in yer face 

When you go passing by; 
'N' dust gits seven inches thick, 

'N' hot winds start to blew — 
When it gits dry in Kansas 

There's nothing has a show. 
When it gits dry in Kansas 

The people mighty soon 
Begin to talk 'n' worry 'bout 

The changes in the moon; 
'N' grandpa lights his pipe 'n' says. 

To not git worried yit, 
*'Fer eighteen months in 'Sixty, 

It never rained a bit." 
When it gits dry in Kansas 
It puts some folks to rout; 
They sell off ev'rything they have 

'N' go a hustlin' out, 
A saying' they have had enough, 

'N' cussin jes' like sin^- 
But ev'ry dod-blamed one uv 'em 

Jes' comes right back agin! 


If the world were filled with gladness, 

And no suffering could be, 
And if hearts from toil and sadness 

Forever should be free, 
Would life be more worth living, 

Or the days more happy seem; 
Would we then care more for giving 

To dark lives a brighter gleam? 

Would joy for us be brighter 

Did we know no anxious thought. 

Would ever rest seem lighter 
Than after care is brought? 

If all the birds of summer 

With song our hearts could cheer. 
Would the notes of a new-comer 

Sound as welcome to the ear; 
Would the morning song it raises 

To the world from here and there 
So thrill us with its praises 

As its music fills the air? 

And were summer air o 'erlaid 
With fragrance from each flower, 

Would we care then for the shade 
Of some blossom-scented bower? 

Ji, all the arch of Heaven 

With heavy clouds were veiled. 
Or the blue sky were not riven, 

And no storm-clouds o'er it sailed, 
Would the floating mists seem whiter — 

More lovely, or the blue 
To us appear then brighter • 

Than to see the cloud-forms too? 

And if no friend were nearer. 
But each to all were friends, 

Would love be any dearer 

Than the charm which now it lends? 

No, in all it is the contrast. 
Each in its given sphere. 


Gleanings from, the Gullies. 



That makes the harmonies which cast 

Their beauties everywhere. 
'Tis the sweet that makes the bitter, 

And the bitter makes the sweet, 
iTis in gloom we see the glitter. 

After night the day we greet. 

Oft 'mid gladsome hours come sorrows, 
Into sunshine shadows steal, 

So throughout the days and morrows 
Each thing others will reveal. 


Say, have you heard of the cries and 

Of the people in and around Big Falls 
About vaccination? Yes, that's the cry, 
And the people want to know the reason 


That the doctors visit our town. 
And shut our main dependence down. 
And give our women such dreadful shocks 
By vaccinating us for Smallpox. 

We want to live and let others live, 
But our money we do not want to give 
To men who are busy here of late 
Hunting up people to vaccinate. 

They come well armed with points and 

Like soldiers going to a battle field. 
With policeman and experts from Virginia 

And the powers of Burlington to vaccinate. 

But we beheld them on the Hill, 

In sight of Juanita Cotton Mill 

Caucusing what course to pursue 

To enter our town, and vaccinate us too. 

Soon a courier we to them sent, 
To meet this band who were intent 
"i^o vaccinate us one and all 
Who live at, in, and around Big Falls. 

When he told them of the fate. 
That awaited those who vaccinate 
The policeman and the doctor too, • 

Back to the town of Burlington flew- 

Don't rush upon us people so. 
And force us to the pesthouse, no. 
We dont intend to let you in. 
To vaccinate with point or pin. 

Smallpox, Smallpox, is all the cry 

When the doctor sees its measles he kinder 

shuts his eye. 
You may call it smallpox, doctor, fool us 

if you can, • 

But we hardly believe you know a monkey 

from a man. 

Another verse we now must add, , 

To make youjaugh and feel quite glad. 

The policeman from Burlington had such 

a chill 
His teeth popped together so he couldn't 

hear the mill. 

So now we close this Big Fall Ehyme 
Don't aajhodj think we lost anytime. 
For we all stood together to share the 

same fate 
To die rather than let the doctor vacci_ 


Faucets may drain a barrel dry 

But to stick vaccine in us they need not 

For the Miller in Burlington has ceased 

to grind 
As for grinding and Fauceting a new place 

must find. 
The Miller has run his short race through 

The Page-ant and Faucet have nothing 

new to do. 
Patt-ers-on the cheek, but Freeman, let 

us be 
But move the Stock (y)ard further out into 

the sea 



Picked up Here and There. 

^ f 


''If only we could see what lies ahead, 
If we might look beyond tomorrow's 
I wonder if we should, absolved from 
Be happy-visaged and contented mor- 
Would all the hate and heartaches dis- 
Would glee blot out all memories of sor- 
row — 
If we could see what lies beyond to- 
« morrow? 

If we could know what destines the fates 
Are shaping now for us who blindly 

And oft in vain assault forlfidden gates, 
How would the knowledge profit us, I 
Would failure cease to break the hearts 
of men? 
Would night's deep silent darkness lose 
its terror? 
Would he that ought to dig lay down the 
Would all who stumble cease to grope 
in error? 

We know that right is right, that wrong 
is wrong. 
That thus it was ordained at time's 

We know that honors to the wise belong. 
That sorrow is the heavy price of sin- 

Tet foolishly we sin and venture where 
the currents, soon or late, will drag 
us under; 

If somehow all the future were laid bare. 

How would beholding profit us, I won- 

"Some of these days all the skies will be 

brighter ; 
Some of these days all the burdens will be 

Hearts will be happier, • souls will be 


Some of these day^! 

''Some of these days, in the deserts up- 

Fountains shall flash while the joy-bells 
are ringing; 

And the world — with its sweetest of birds 
— shall go singing 
Some of these days! 

Some of these days! Let us bear with our 

Faith in the future-^its light we may bor- 

There will be joy in the golden tomor- 
row — 

Some of these days ! " 


O sweetheart! don't be sighing. 

The winter won't be long; 
Soon merry birdlings crying. 

Will glad the earth with song, 
For though it be December, 

And dark and drear the day, 
Be cheerful and remember 
The flowers will come in May. 

Chorus — 

The flowers will come in May, 
Sweet flowers bloom in May, 

And hearts now sad shall then be glad, 
When iLe flowers come in May. 

O sweetheart! so with sorrow— 

The w'nter of the heart — 
Some golden, fair , tomorrow, 

.Will see it all depart. 
And love's own birds be singing 

Their carols sweet and gay, 
With wedding.bells a-ringing. 

When the flowers come in May, — Cho. 


''Gleanings from the Gullies." 


"Answer to Rudyard Kipling." 

There has not been a poem so widely- 
discussed in a long time as Mr. Kipling's 
''The Female of the Species" published 
recently in the Ladies' Home Journal. It 
has called forth many answers in reply, of 
which none seems better than the follow- 

When the earth emerged from chaos, full 
of beauty and of grace, 

Man, ordained to be its ruler, God appoint- 
ed to his place; 

But the wise and kind Creator, knowing 
man was incomplete, 

Formed the purest of all species, woman, 
for the man's help-meet. 

When the wily Serpent tempted, and both 

man and woman fell; 
When the sword of justice threatened, 

when they faced an endless hell; 
Not to man was promise given, seed to 

bruise the Serpent's head; 
Through the female of the species came 

man's hope when hope was dead. 

Ever down succeeding ages, shown by 
■ hist'ry of our world. 

When the power of sin has triumphed, sor- 
row's banner's been unfurled. 

Man has fought and man has butchered; 

Women's hands men's wounds have dress- 

For the female of the species with love's 
tenderness is blessed. 

When the hate of men is kindled till like 

fiends with pity dead, 
Eobbed of natural affections, they o'er 

earth foul murder spread. 
Then the Nightingales- and Bartons, filled 

with tenderness, appear; 
For the female of the species in man's hour 

of need is near. 

'Twas the female of the species who sore 
travailed at our birth, 

'Twas the female of the species gave the 
Saviour to our earth. 

'Tis the mother, gentle, tender, whom 
we'll love till dying breath, 

'Tis the mother of our species who is faith- 
ful unto death. 

— June Guythorne Fiskale. 


One little temperance boy, to his work so 

Pledged another little boy, then there were 


Two little temperance boys, from bad hab- 
its free. 

Got another boy to join them; then there 
were three. 

Three little temperance boys, never drank 

or swore, 
Taught a boy he must not smoke; then 

there were four. 

Four little temperance boys, to their work 

Helped another boy be good; then there^ 

were five. 

Five little temperance boys, eyes so very 

Soon started number six on the road so 


Six little temperance boys, looking up to 

Cheered a playmate on the way; then there 

were seven. 

Seven little temperance boys, all rum they 

Told a fellow of the wrong; then there. 

were eight. 


( { 

Picked up Here mid There. 

> ) 

Eight little temperance boys touch not, 

taste not wine, 
Asked a schoolmate not to drink; then 

there were nine. 

Nine little temperance boys learned the 

truth, and then 
Told it to another boy; so there were ten. 

Ten little temperance boys, working hand 

in hand, 
To drive strong drink away from our na_ 

tive land, 

I ask you all to help them. Work with 

all your might; 
Never fear nor falter; God is with the 
I right. 

— ^Ida M. Buxton, in Pansy. 


There 's a time in each year 
That we always hold dear. 

Good old summer-time! 
With the birds and the trees, 
And the sweet-scented breeze, 

Good old summer-time. 
When your day's work is over, 
Then you are in clover. 

And life is one beautiful rhyme, 
No trouble annoying 
Each one is enjoying 

The good old summer-time. 

Chorus — 

In the good old summer-time. 

In the good old summer-time, 
Strolling through the shady lanes 

With your baby mine! 
Tou hold her hand and she holds yours. 

And tbat's a very good sign 
That she's your tootsey-wootsey 

In the good old summer-time. 

To swim in the pool 

You'd play '^ hookey" from school, 

Good old summer-time! 
You 'd play ' ' ring.a-rosy ' ' / 

With Jim, Kate and Josie, 

Good old summer-time. 
Those days full of pleasure 
We now fondly treasure, 

When we never thought it a crime 
To go stealing cherries, 
With face brown as berries. 

Good old summer-time! — Chorus. 


''Eock of Ages, cleft for me — " 

Thoughtlessly the maiden sung; 
Fell the words unconsciously 

From her girlish, guileless tongue; 
Sung as little children sing . 

Sung as sing the birds in June: 
Fell the words as light leaves down 

On the current of the tune — 
"Bock of Ages, cleft for me, 
■^Let me hide myself in Thee." 

Felt her soul no need to hide. 

Sweet the song as song could be, 

And she had no thought beside; 
All the world unheedingly 

Fell from lips untouched by care. 
Dreaming not that each might be 

On some other lips a prayer — 
"Eock of Ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in Thee," 

"Eock of Ages, cleft for me — " 

'Twas a woman sang them now; 
Sung them slow and wearily — 

One hand on her aching brow, 
Eose the song as a storm.tossed bird, 

Beats with weary wing the air 
Every note with sorrow stirred. 

Every syllable a prayer — 
''Eock of Ages, cleft for me. 
Let me hide myself in Thee:" 

"Gleanings from the Gullies. 


*'Eock of Ages, cleft for me — " 

Lips grown aged sung the hymn 
Trustingly and tenderly; 

Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim 
**Let me hide myself in Thee." 

Trembling though the voice and low, 
Ran the sweet strain peacefully, 
V Like a river in its flow; 
-Sung as only they can sing 

Who life's thorny paths have pressed: 
Sung as only they can sing 

Who behold the promised rest — 
^'Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
liCt me hide myself in Thee. ' ' 

> J 

*'Rock of Ages, cleft for me- 

Sung above a cofS.n lid, 
Underneath all restfully, 

All life 's joys and sorrow^ shid. 
Never more, O storm-tossed soul, 

Never more from wind and tide. 
Never more from billows ' roll 

Wilt thou ever need to hide. 
Could the sightless, sunken eyes. 

Closed beneath the soft, white hair, 
Could the mute and stiffened lips 

Move again in pleading prayer, 
Still, aye still, the words would be — 

*'Let me hide myself in Thee." 


I sat in the school of sorrow; 

The Master was teaching there. 
But my eyes were dim with weeping 

And my heart oppressed with care. 

Instead of looking upward 
And seeing his face divine. 

So full of tender compassion 

For weary sad hearts like mine. 

I only thought of the "burden 

Of tlie cross, tliat iDefore me lay. 

The clouds tliat hung thick above me 
Darkenisng tlh;e Hightt otf day. 

So I could not learn my lesson 
And say, ''Thy will be done;" 

And the Master came not near me 
As the leaden hours went on. 

At last, in despair, I lifted 

My streaming eyes above. 
And I saw the Master was watching 

With a look of pitying love. 

To the cross before me he pointed; 

And I thought I heard him say, 
''My child, thou must take thy burden. 

And learn thy task today. 

''Not now may I tell the reason; 

'Tis enough for thee to know 
That I, the Master, am teaching. 

And appoint thee all thy woe." 

Then kneeling, the cross I lifted, 
For one glimpse of that face divine 

Had given me strength to bear it. 
And say, "Thy will, not mine." 

And so I learned my lesson; 

And through the weary years 
His helping hand sustained me. 

And wiped away my tears. 

And ever the glorious sunlight 

From the heavenly home streams down. 

Till the school tasks all are ended 

And the cross exchanged for the crown. 

Mr. Deese, if you pleaso, 

Let Mr. Horn, have some corn, 

Charge the amount, to my account, 
And in the fall, I'll pay it all; 
Yours truly, Henry Dooley. 



Picked up Here and There/' 


' ''I am not a strong believer in dreams,'* 
the drummer remarked as he drew his 
chair up closer to the stove, but I can tell 
you a little circumstance that happened a 
few years ago, which has remained a mys_ 
tery to me to this day. 

' ' I have ben traveling for a large whole- 
sale drug company in St Louis for a num- 
ber of years, and I have met patrons. On 
my run in the southwest, I had one very 
particular old friend whom I will call 
Brother Benton, because everybody in this 
section calls him by that name. He nearly 
always had an order for me, but whether 
he did or not I always felt better after 
having made my call, on account of his 
cheerful ways and pleasant words. T could 
only see my customers twice a year at best, 
and I looked forward to my visit to this 
old customer as one of my best days. 

' ' On one visit I sold him a much larger 
bill than he ever made before, but I did 
not hesitate to recommend the house to 
fill the order. I had learned that he was 
universally loved and respected in his own 
town as a sincere 'Christian. He would not 
keep ardent spirits nor would he hear for 
one minute of giving space in his house 
for tobacco in any shape. 'My Bible,' said 
he, condemns both whiskey, and tobacco 
and T will have nothing to do with them.' 
No amount of persuading or liberal terms 
and discounts could induce him to deviate 
from this rule. 

' ' About six months after I had sold him 
the large bill I was notified by the house 
that the bill was unpaid, and that I should 
call as soon as possible and collect it. I 
hastened over my territory and called in 
person to see after the matter. I found a 
new face behind the counter and I learned 
that a short time after I sold the bill my 
old friend had taken smallpox and he and 
his family had been under quarantine for 

a long time. His sickness had lasted sev- 
eral months, and he was still confined to 
his home. I did not see him, but he sent 
me word that the matter would come out 
in the end. ' 

''To make a long story short, he had 
-suffered more losses than he thought, and 
six months went by and still the bill was 
not paid. I wrote to the house and told 
them the condition of affairs and thejr 
were holding proceedings against him. 

' ' Six months went by again, and I was 
ordered to go at once and collect the bill 
or enter suit. I had but one thing to do, 
though r confess I had some rebellions 
thoughts. The night before I arrived at 
his town I spent several weary hours roll- 
ing and tossing on my bed, trying to con- 
trive some plan to avoid closing out my 
old friend. He lived some eight miles from 
the railroad, and I should see him on the 
morrow. I knew that if I brought suit 
that in all probability others would do the 
same, and a good man would go to the 
wall for no fault of his own. "While toss- 
ing on my bed I must have fallen asleep. 
I thought that I had called upon my old 
friend, and we were sitting in his family- 
room, with all his family about him. He 
turned to me and said: 'We are just about 
to have our morning prayers, and we shall 
be glad to have you join us.' I replied, 
'With pleasure.' He announced that he 
would read the twenty-third Psalm. He 
began to read, but I was astonished at the 
words I heard. I had learned that psalm 
in Sunday school when a boy, and while 
I had not read my Bible as much as I 
should have done, still I will never forget 
that 'the Lord is my shepherd.' 

"The words were read in a round, clear 
voice, and my heart rejoiced, though I had 
heard it that way before. He read: 

" 'The Lord is my banker; I shall not 
fail. He maketh me to lie down on gold' 


Gleanings from the Gullies.' ' 


mines. He giveth me the combination of 
Lis tills. He restoretti my credit. He 
showeth me how to avoid lawsuits for his 
name 's sake. Yea, though I walk in the 
very shadow of debt, I will fear no evil; 
for thou art with me; thy silver and thy 
gold they rescue me. Thou preparest a 
way for me in the presence of my col- 
lector. Thou fillest my barrels with oil; 
my measure runneth over. Surely good- 
ness and mercy shall follow me all the 
days of my life, and I will do business in 
the name of the Lord.' 

^'Having read this Scripture he knelt 
down and prayed. I thought I had never 
heard such a prayer in ail my life. He 
fairly took my breath from me when he 
asked his Heavenly Father to bless me, his 

'^With his amen I awoke with a start. 
I concluded I would call on my old friend 
early in the morning at his own home. I 
arose in time to procure a team and was 
knocking at his door just as the sun was 
coming over the eastern horizon. He met 
me at the door with a hearty handshake 
and said: 'come right in. We are just 
going to have morning prayers, and .we 
will be glad to have you join us.' He 
took m.e into the room and introduced his 
wife and children. He took up his Bible 
and said, ' We will read the twenty-third 
Psalm' He read it in a clear voice, but 
read it as it is written in the Book. I 
cannot tell you my felings and thoughts 
while he read. We then knelt in prayer, 
and he humbly made known his wishes, 
but it did not sound like the one I heard 
in my dream, though he appeared to go 
over the same thought. He told the Lord 
that he owed some money, and that it was 
past due, and he asked that a way might 
open for him to pay it that very day. He 
then prayed for me, and while on my knees 
I resolved that for one time in my life I 

would disobey orders. 

''After prayers we both went direct tcx/ 
the drug store and as we .entered the door 
a young man met us and said: ''Brother 
Benton, father sent me over this morning 
to tell you that he would take that house 
and lot you spoke to him about a few days 
ago. He told me to hand you this money 
and that he would pay the balance on de- 
livery of the deed.' 

"The old man received the roll of bills 
and tears began to roll down his cheeks as 
he turned away. He wrote the young maa 
a receipt for the money and gave it to 
him. He then turned to his ledger and 
began to figure. He turned to me and 
said, 'Will you please receipt this state- 
ment?" I saw that lie had added all the 
past interest on the bill. I told him I was 
ordered by the house to remit the interest. 
He declined to receive it and said he de- 
sired to pay all of his just debts. I took 
the money and sent it in. The house 
wrote hrm a very complimentary letter, 
thanking him for the remittance. In a 
great measure my dream came to pass. 

"At the time I was tossing on my bed 

my old friend was on his knees in his closet 
pleading with his Banker for a loan, I 
am very much gratified to knoj^ that he 
got it, and ever since in all my discourage- 
ments I apply the twenty.third Psalm as 
the remedv. " — Selected. 


Man wants but little here below, 
Nol Goldsmith sang long years ago, 
But Golby living now would find 
Good cause to change his mind. 
For were he writing verse today. 
With Woman Suffrage on the way, 
He'd change his line, and this bestow: 
"Man '11 get but little here below." 




Picked up Here and There." 


Some said she had ceased to love him, 
Because he was grave and old; 

And he in his jealous passion 
Believed the tale they told. 

Some said they knew she would weary 

Of being an old man's wife; 
After gaining the wealth she longed for, 

At the price of a wasted life. 

Some said an old-time lover 

Had whispered in her ear 
Words that^no faithful woman 

"Would ever deign to hear. 

At last his smothered passion 

Broke out like a swift, fierce flame; 

And his words were cruelly bitter 
When his hot reproaches came. 

She heard him like one dreaming. 

And then her face grew stern; 
And her head was lifted proudly 

And her eyes began to burn. 

**1 will not listen longer 

To Tyords like these!" she cried. 
"Never a woman was truer 

Since men have lived and died. 

''Would God I could lay before you 

My heart for your eyes to read; 
You would find me true and faithful 

In word, and thought, and deed. ' ' 
But he answered her coldly, sternly, 

With a bitter pain at heart; 
**The paths our feet must follow 

Must henceforth lie apart. 

•''If you weighed my wealth in the bal- 

Against the hand you sold, 
Tou have won it, and I give you 

The curse of coveted gold. 

"It will curse you as I cannot, 

For I loved you as my life; 
Its glitter will always remind you 

Of the man who called you wife. 

''But our child shall stay beside me; 

And he shall never be told 
How I bought you in the market 

For a paltry sum of gold. ' ' 

Then he turned away and left her; 

She neither stirred nor wept 
Till in across the threshold 

The baby Willie crept. 

Then the mother.heart within her 

Broke with a bitter moan; 
And she fell prone before him 

Like a figure carved in stone. 

But it was not death's white stillness 
Which kept back tears and cry; 

She must live and learn to suffer; 
Hearts break, but cannot die. 

Live, and miss from her bosom 
The child she loved so much; 

To dream in the awful midnight 
She could feel his clinging touch. 

And hear the sound of his footsteps 
At the side of her lonely bed; 

And reach out her hands to find him, 
To .find but air instead. 

O pity her, weeping mothers. 

Who miss your little ones so; 
Yours out of reach in heaven; 
Hers out of reach below. 

There's a step on the shadowy threshold; 

Death's at the open door; 
A life is going heavenward 

To come back nevermore. 

'^Gleanings from the Gullies.' ' 


A child in whose hair is tangled 
The gold of summers three 

Is drifting out of earth-life 
Into eternity. 

He lies on the old man's bosom, 
And the arms which hold him there 

Would give the world to keep him;. 
But the reaper will not spare. 

''O my boy!" the old man whispers; 

And his eyes are wet with tears 
As he thinks of a lonely hearthstone 

And lonlier, drearier years. 

There's another step on the threshold, 
But 'tis not the step of death; 

And a cry of joy and sorrow 
And a sob in every breath. 

And "My baby!" the woman utters 

In a tone so deep with love 
That I think the eyes of angels 

Grow dim with tears above. 

And she reaches her arms out empty 
"With such pleading in her eyes 

Tliat he lays upon her bosom 
This flower of paradise. 

Oh, the rapture that comes over her 
When she feels her baby's head; 

And she drops the sweetest kisses 
On the cheek whose rose has fled. 

The baby's eyes are lifted 
To his mot"?ier's face a<;aln; 

And "marnma" he faintly whispers, 
And his cheeks are wet with rain. 

Oh, that face! if I could but paint it 
With the glory X of its love, 

The touch of little fingers, 
The trembling lip above. 

The old man's eyes are blinded 
With the tears he cannot hide 

At sight of the dear child's mother, 
With her face all glorified. 

There's another step on the threshold, 

Death cannot longer wait; 
For the angels at the sunset 

Will close the heavenly gate. 

There in the solemn silence 
The last long kiss is given; 

And the angel at the threshold 
Bears back a flower to heaven. 

There's a deep and. holy silence 
'Eound the little sleeper's rest; 

But the mother's face is glowing. 
For he died upon her breast. 

The old man's voice is broken 
As he kneels beside the bed 

And lays his hands, all trembling. 
On the little shining head. 


While some with talents ten begun. 

He started out with only one. 

''With this," he said," ''I'll do my best, 

And trust the Lord to do the rest." 

His trembling hand and tearful eye 

Gave forth a word of sympathy. 

When all alone with one distressed. 

He whispered words that calmed that 

And little children learned to know. 
When grieved and troubled, where to go. 
He loved the birds, the flowers, the trees, 
And, loving him, his friends loved these.. 
His homely features lost each trace 
Of homeliness; and in his face 
There beamed 'a kind and tender light 
That made surrounding features bright; 
When illness came he smiled at fears. 
And bade his friends to dry their tears. 
He said "Goodby, " and all confess. 
He made of life a grand success. 

— Presbyterian Journal.. 



Picked up Here and There.'' 


Hark! the church proclaims her honor, 
And her strength is only this: 

God hath laid His choice upon her, 
And the work she doth is His. 

He His church Tiath firmly founded, 
He will guard what He began; 

We by sin and foes surrounded, 
Build her bulwarks as we can. 

Frail and fleeting are our powers, 
Short our days, our foresight dim. 

And we own the choice not ours, 
We were chosen first by Him. 

Onward, then! for nought despairing, 
Calm we follow at His Word, 

Thus through joy and sorrow bearing 
Faithful witness to our Lord. 

Though we here must strive with weak. 

Though in tears we often bend, 
What His might began in meekness, 

Shall achieve a glorious end. 

— Selected. 


" By Ethel Carroll Squires. 
(A loving tribute on behalf of all Mere- 
dith students, and especially the Club 
Girls, whose friend he ever was in word 
and deed.) 

John Pullen dead Not so, not so! 

John Pullen lives forevermore, 

Immortal; bounded by no shore, 
What death could lay his spirit lowf 

He and his Master — still they roam 
Through street and byway, soft to call 
Wherever sin and sorrow fall 

Their ever-loving: Child, come home! 

John Pullen could not die — Ah no! 

For radiant there shone in him 

The light that shadows never dim. 
Eternal Light, forever glow 

Upon these darkened ways of ours 
Where tear-drops fall to miss a hand 
Now angel-clasped in yonder land 

All fragrant with celestial flowers. 

O long before he to the gate 

Had come, they spied him from afar 
And held the portals wide ajar. 

See just within more angels wait 
To bring him like a conqueror come 

His crown to wear! And from the throne 

His Father's voice, so often known 
On earth, cries softly: Welcome home! 

His mother comes — through all the place 
A silence falls — those he has won 
Come forth to sing: Thy toil is done, 

Have what thou wilt. Upon his face ; 
O send me back to paths of sin — 

When once my long-time fettered tongue 

Has sung the praise on earth begun — 
To bring more weary wanderers in! 


I've wandered to the village Tom, I've sat 

beneath the tree. 
Upon the schoolhouse playgiound, which 

sheltered you and me; 
But n6ne were left to greet me, Tom and 

few were left to know, 
That played with us upon the green, some 

twenty years ago. 

The grass is just as green, Tom; barefoot- 
ed boys at play 

Were sporting just as we did then, with 
spirits just as gay; 

But the master sleeps upon the hill, which, 
coated o'er with snow. 

Afforded us a sliding place, just twenty 
years ago. 

i ( 

Gleanings from the Gullies/' 


The boys were playing some old game, be- 
neath that same old tree; 

I have forgot the name just now — you've 
played the same with me 

On that same spot; 'twas played with 
knives by throwing — so and so; 

The leader had a task to do — there, twenty 
years ago. 

"The river's running just as still; the wil- 
lows on its side 
Are larger than they were, Tom; the 
1 stream appears less wide — 

■But the grapevine swing is ruined now, 

where once we played the beau, 
-And swung our sweethearts — pretty girls 
— just twenty years ago. 

The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, 

close by the spreading beech, 
Is very low — 'twas once so high, that we 

could almost reach; 
And, kneeling down to get a drink, dear 

Tom, I started so. 
To see how sadly I am changed, since 

twenty years ago. 

Near by the spring, upon an elm, you know 

I cut your name. 
Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, 

and you did mine the same; 
"Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark 

— 'twas dying, sure but slow. 
Just as that one, whose name you cut, 

died twenty years ago. 

My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears 

came in my eyes; 
1 thought of her I loved so well, those 

early broken ties; 
I visited the old churchyard, and took some 

flowers to strow 
Upon the graves of those we loved, some 

twenty years ago. 

Some are in the churchyard laid — some 
sleep beneath the sea; 

But few are left of our old class, except- 
ing you and me; 

And when our time shall come, Tom, and 
we are called to go, 

I hope they'll lay us where we played, just 
twenty years ago. 


A little child on a sick-bed lay. 

And to death seemed very ne^„r. 
Her parents' pride, and the only child 

Of a railroad engi-ieer. 
His duty called him from those he loved, 

From his home whose light was dimmed; 
While tears he shed, to his wife he said, 

^'I will leave two lanterns trimmed." 

Chorus — 

'^Just set a light when I pass tonight, 

Set it where it can be seen; 
If our darling's dead, then show the red, 

If she's better, show the green!" 
In that small house by the railroad side, 

'Twas the mother's watchful eye 
Saw a gleam of hope in the feeble smile, 

As the train went rushing by. 
Just one short look, 'twas his only chance, 

But the signal-light was seen; 
On the midnight air there arose a prayer, 

''Thank God! the light is green." 


It isn't the thing you do, deaf. 

It 's the thing you leave undone 
That gives you a bit of a heartache 

At the setting of the sun. 
The tender word forgotten; 

The letter you did not write; 
The flower you did not send, dear. 

Are your haunting ghosts at night. 



Picked up Here and There.'' 

The stone you might have lifted 

Out of a brother's way; 
A bit of heartsome counsel 

You were hurried too much to say; 

The loving touch of the hand, dear, 

The gentle, winning tone 
Which you had no time nor thought for 

With troubles enough of your own. 

These little acts of kindness 

So easily out of mind. 
Those chances to be angels 

Which we poor mortals find — 
They come in night and silence, 

Each sad, reproachful wraith. 
When hope is faint and flagging 

And a chill has fallen on faith. 

— Selected. 


When a man ain't got a cent, 

An' he's feeling kind of blue. 
An' the clouds hang dark and heavy, 

An ' work won 't let the sunshine 
It's a great thing, O my brethren. 

For a fellow just to lay 
His hand upon your shoulder 

In a friendly sort of way. 
It makes a man feel queerish; 

It makes the teardrop start, 
An' you sort of feel a flutter 

In the region of your heart; 
You can't look up and meet his eyes, 

You don't know what to say. 
When his hand is on your shoulder 

In a friendly sort of yfaj. 
Qh, the world's a curious compound. 

With its honey and its gall. 
With its cares and bitter crosses; 

But a good world after all. 
An ' a good God must have made — 

Leastwise, that is what I say 
When a hand is on your shoulder 

In a friendly sort of way. 

— James Whitcomb Eiley. 


The telephone girl sits still in her chair 
And listens to voices from everywhere. 
She knows all the gossip, she knows all 

the news. 
She knows who is happy and who has the 

She knows all our sorrows, she knows all 

our joys. 
She knows all the girls who are '^ chasing 

the boys." 

She knows all our troubles, she knows of 

our strife, 
She knows every man who talks mean to 

his wife; 
She knows every time we are out with 

the boys, 
She knows the excuses that each felloTT 


If the telephone girl told half that she 

It would turn our friends into bitterest 

She would sow a small wind that would 
soon be a gale. 

Ingulf us in trouble and land us in jail. 

SJie would start forth a story which, gain, 
ing in force. 

Would cause half our wives to sue for di- 
vorce, * 

She would get all our churches mixed up 
in a fight, 

And turn our bright days into sorrowing- 

In fact, she could keep the whole town in 
a stew, 

If she told- but one-tanlh of the things that 
she knew. 

Say, kid, but doesn^t it mako your head 

When you think what you owe to the 
telephone girl I 

— From Judge. 

^^ Gleanings from the Gullies. 




By Dan Nicholas Steidle, Jr. 
Just drop a line to mother, boy; remember 

she's your friend; 
You know she's getting old and gray and 

hastening toward the end. 
A word from you will cheer her up and 

make her old heart glad; 
She'd know you've not forgotten her — 

drop her a line my lad. 

When you were but a little child she'd 
stroke your curly head 

And tell you how she loved you; don't for- 
get the words she said. ' 

She'd put her arms around your neck 
whenever you felt sad; 

She'd always kiss your tears away. — drop 
her a line, my lad. 

You took your sorrows all to her, she'd 

smooth the troubled brow; 
She always chased the clouds away — 

would you forget her now? 
She's praying for you every day, no word 

from you she's had; 
A message now would make her smile — 

drop her a line, my lad. 

Perhaps she thinks yon are lost and gone; 
that she is all alone; 

Brighten her up with a little note as re- 
ward for what she's done; 

'Twould lengthen her years to see your 
face, she'd remember her little tad; 

But this is the least that you can do — drop 
her a line, my lad. 

You'll only have one mother, boy — no one 

her place can take; 
'Twill be too late when she is gone; write 

— just for her sweet sake! 
She'll take you to her warm heart still if 

you've gone to the bad; 
Don't be ashamed to call her name — drop 

her a line, my lad. 


Oft within our little cottage, 

As the shadows gently fall. 
While the sunlight touches softly 

One sweet face upon the wall, 
Do we gather close together, 

And in hushed and tender tone 
Ask each other's full forgiveness 

For the wrongs that each have done. 
Should you wonder why this custom 

At the closing of the day, 
Eye and voice would quickly answer: 

"It was once our mother's way." 

If our home be bright and cheery, 

If it hold- a welcome true. 
Opening wide its door of greetin-g 

To the many — not the few; 
If we share our Father's bounty 

With the needy, day by- day, 
'Tis because our hearts remember 

This was ever mother's way. 

Sometimes when our hearts grow weary, 

Or our task seems very long. 
When our burdens look too heavy 

And we deem the right all wrong. 
Then we gain a new, fresh courage, 

As we rise to proudly say: 
"Let us do our duty bravely; / 

This was* our dear mother's way." 

Thus we keep her memory precious. 
While we never cease to pray 

That at last, when lengthening shadows, 
Mark the evening of life's day, 

They may find us waiting calmly 
To go home our mother's way. 


In this busy old world 
Of hustle and pelf. 

If you want to get yours 
Go and grab it yourself. 



Picked up Here and There. ^^ 


I remember, I remember, in the house 

where I was born, 
How father made us all get up at daylight 

every morn; 
The slice of cold and greasy pork upon my 

breakfast plate, 
The muddy coffee that I drank, the soggy 

bread I ate. 
I remember, I remember, how I trudged a 

mile to school. 
And was rapped across the knuckles if I 

broke the slightest rule; 
The birch above the teacher's desk, the 

lightning in his eye; 
The way he used to keep me in till stars 

were in the sky. 

I remember, I remember, how in winters 

long ago, 
I woke to find my attic bed half covered 

up with snow, 
And how the home-made socks of blue that 

patiently I wore 
Were knitted &om the kind of stuff in 

Nessus' shirt of yore. 
I remember, I remember, how we sat by 

And vainly tried to see to do our lessons 

And how before the glowing hearth from 

time to time we turned, 
Because, alas! our backs would freeze the 

while our faces burned 

I remember, I remember, how our holidays 

were few, 
And father always found some chores we 

had to stay an(^ do; 
In hoeing corn and sawing wood we got 

our exercise, 
And dad's old trousers for us boys were 

made a smaller size. 
I remember, I remember, how the seasons 

came and went, 

And we helped to reap the harvests, but 

we never got a cent. 
I like to recollect it all and talk of it, I 

But thank the Lord with all my heart, 

those times are over no-w*. 


When rain beats down and all is drear, 

As often is the way. 
With happy smile I will recall 

What Grandma used to say: 
''Why bless your heart,' it doesn't help 

To let. the tears drip too; 
Just wipe your eyes and look around, 

For some good deed to do." 

With glee three letters she'd repeat 

Just M. O. H. were they; 
Yet what their meaning we knew not, 

For did we ask, she 'd say ; 
''Why that's my. motto and I've learned, 

The very wisest plan 
Is to find out what others need. 

And help them if you can!" 

With each success, as we would seek 

Some helpful art to do, 
We found that cheering other lives 

Brightened our own lives too. 
I told her this one day, and plead: 

"M. O. H. please make clear." 
Then smiling sweetly, she replied: 

"Make Others Happy, dear!" 

"When stormy days give you the blues. 

Just help to set things right; 
Kind acts will find the darkest day 

With sweetness and with light. 
Look up the real unfortunates, 

And ease their aches and pains, 
As you make others happy, dear, 

You just forget it rains." 

— Selected. 

^'Gleanings from the Gullies.'' 



Sometimes I am tempted to murmur 

That life is flitting away, 
"With only a round of trifles 

Filling each busy day; 
Dusting nook and corners, 

Making the house look fair, 
And patiently taking on me 

The burden of women's care. 

Comforting childish sorrow. 

And charming the childish heart 
With the simple song and story 

Told with a mother's art; 
Seting the dear home table 

And clearing the meal away, 
And going on little errands 

In the twilight of the day. 

One day is just like another! 

Sewing and piecing well 
Little jackets and trousers, 

So neatly that none can tell 
Where are the seams and joinings 

Ah! the seamy side of life 
Is kept out of sight by the magic 

Of many a mother and wife! 

And oft when ready to murmur 

That life is flitting away, 
With the self -same around of duties 

Filling each busy day, 
It comes to my spirit sweetly 

With the grace of a thought divine; 
^'You are living, toiling, for love's sake, 

And the loving should never repine. 

*'You are guiding the little footsteps 
In the way they ought to walk; 

You are dropping a word for Jesus 
In the midst of your household talk; 

Living your life for love 's sake 
Till the homely cares grow sweet, 

And sacred the self-denial 

That is laid at the Master 's feet. 

— Margaret E. Sangster. 


As Mary and Willie sat by the seashore 

Their last farewell to take, 
Said Mary to Willie, ''You're now going 
to sea, 
I fear that my fond heart will break.'" 
"'Oh, don't be despairing," young Willie 
then said, 
And pressed his fair maid to his ^ide; 
'^My absence don't mourn, for when 1 
I'll make little Mary my bride." 

Three years having passed without any 
♦ news. 

As Mary stands by her own door. 
An old beggar came by with a patch on 
his eye. 
And did for her pity implore. 
''Fair lady," cried he, "your charity be- 
And I'll tell your fortune beside; 
The lad whom you mourn will never re- 
To make little Mary his bride." 

''Oh, if it be true you tell unto me, 

My Willie, my hero still lives! 
Oh, if it be true, straightway unto you 

All the money I have I will give." 
"He is living," quoth he, "all in poverty; 

He haSibeen shipwrecked beside; 
He '11 return no more because he is poor. 

To make little Mary his bride." 

"May the heavens above know the joy 
that I feel, 

And for his misfortune I'll mourn; 
He's welcome to me all in poverty, 

With his blue jacket tattered and torn." 
The beggar threw by the patch from his 


Likewise the crutch from his side; 
Blue jacket and trousers, and cheeks like 
a rose, 
Young Willie stood by Mary's side. 


Picked up Here and There.'' 

** Forgive me, fair lady! forgive me," he 

"It was only your love that I tried; 
To the church we'll away before close of 

To make little Mary my bride. 
IVe money in plenty and riches untold, 

I never was shipwrecked beside; 
In coaches we'll roll all covered with gold, 

When I make little Mary my bride ! ' ' 

Eepeat last two lines of each stanza for 
the refrain. 


Heavenly Father, day by day. 
Lead me in Thine own sweet way; 
Teach me to be pure and true, 
Show me what I ought to do. 

When in danger, make me brave, 
Make me know that Thou canst save. 
Keep me ever by Thy side, 
Let me in Thy love abide. 

When I'm tempted to do wrong 
Make me steadfast, wise and strong. 
And when all alone I stand 
Shield me with Thy mighty hand. 

When my heart is full of glee 
Help me to remember Thee; 
Happy most of all to know 
That my Father loves me so. 

When my work seems hard and dry 

May I press on cheerily; 

Help me patiently to bear 

Pains and hardships, toil and care. 

May I do the good I know, 
Be Thy loving child below, 
And at last go home to Thee, 
Evermore Thy child to be. 

— Author Unknown. 


(From the New York World.) 
There was a man in our town, 

And he was wondrous wise; 
He didn't do the strenuous life 

jSTor go the pace of flies. 

He didn't hit an auto up 

Until he caused a wreck 
From which they later picked him out 

¥7ith broken bones or neck. 

He didn't seek the upper air 

In ships that fly around 
Until they drop a cog and drop 

Their contents to the ground. 

He didn't drive a rapid horse 
That loved to burn the road 

Until it ran away like man 
And smashed its wagon-load. 

He didn't buck the Wall street bunch 

As either bull or bear 
Until he 'd finished up with it 

And left his wad down there. 

He didn't blow his millions on 
The great white way by night, 

Nor mix up in the social whirl 
That swipes the cash all right. 

He didn 't even try to skip 
With Brown 's or Jones ' wife ; 

But bravely sought in every way 
To live the simple life. 

And so he lived — until one day, 

Just how did not appear, 
A street car caught him on the track 

And ended his career. 

Beneath the sod the wise one rests; 

We wipe our weeping eyes 
j^nd wonder, in a town like ours. 

Why should a man be wise? 


Gleaniyigs from the Gullies. 

' > 



How much a man is like his shoes! 
For instance, both a sole may lose; 
Both have been tanned; both are made 

Bj cobblers; both get left and right, 
Both ^ need a mate to be complete. 
And both are made to go on feet. 
They both need heeling, oft are sold. 
And both in time will turn to mold. 
With shoes the last is first; with men 
The first shall be the last; when 
The shoes wear out they're mended new. 
When men wear out they're men dead, 

They both are trod upon, and both 
Will tread on others nothing loath; 
Both have their ties, and both incline, 
When polished, in the world to shine; 
And both peg out Now, would you choose 
To be a man or be his shoes? 


The royal feast was done; the king 

Sought some new sport to banish care, 

And to his jester called; "Sir Fool, 

Kneel down and make for us a prayer. ' ' 

The jester doffed his cap and bells. 
And stood the mocking court before; 

They could not see the bitter smile 
Behind the painted grin he wore. 

He bowed his head and bent his knee. 
Upon the monarch's silken stool. 

His pleading voice arose: '^O Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool! 

^'l<o pity, Loi'd, could change the heart 
From red with wrong, to white as wool. 

The rod must heal the sin, but. Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool! 

" 'Tis not by guilt the onward swiwg 
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; 

'Tis by our follies that so long 
We hold the earth from Heaven away. 

''These clumsy feet, still in the mire, 
Go crushing blossoms wdthout end; 

These hard, well-meaning hands w^e thrust 
Among thQ heart-strings of a friend. 

''The ill-timed truth we might have kept, 
Who knows how sharp it pierced and 
stung f 

The word we had not sense to say. 
Who knows how grandly it had rung? 

' ' Our faults no tenderness should ask, 
The chastening stripes must cleanse them 

But for our blunders, oh! in shame, 
Before the eys of Heaven we fall. 

"Earth bears no balsam for m.istakes, 
Men crown the knave and scourge the 

That did his will, but thou, O Lord, 
Be merciful to me, a fool!" 

The room was hushed; in silence rose 
The king, and sought his gardens cool, 

And walked apart and murmured low, 
"Be merciful to me, a fool!" 


Backward, turn backward, oh Time in 
thy flight. 

Give us a girl whose skirts are not tight. 

Give us a girl whose charms, many or few. 

Are not exposed by too much peekaboo. 

Give us a girl, no matter what age, 

Who won^t use the street for a vaude- 
ville stage. 

Give us a girl not too shapely in view; 

Dress her in skirts that the sun can 't shine 



Picked up Here and There." 


What's the use to worry 
Or to vex your soul 

Lest the merry dealer 
Eaise the price of coal? 
Better be complacent 

Just because you may 
Know he will for certain 

Do it anyway. 

What 's the use to borrow 

Trouble in advance, 
Knowing it will hit you 
When it gets a chance? 
Wait its grand arrival 

To get truly glum; 
Simple logic tells you 

It is bound to come. 
Nothing gained by fretting 

Or by feeling blue; 
Only makes you thinner 

If reports are true. 
Wait until misfortune 

Hands it to you straight, 
You, with such a prospect, 

Can afford to wait. 

Might as well be joyful 

And to sing a tune, 
Knowing there is trouble 

Coming pretty soon. 
You can always figure 

You will sure be hit 
And from every quarter 

Get the worst of it. 


The hen that cackles loudest may not lay 

the largest eggs; 
The mule that kicks the hardest may not 

have the toughest legs; 
The tree that is the tallest may not bear 

the sweetest fruit. 
And the girl who is the fairest may not 

wear the smallest boot. 

The man whose brow is highest may not 

always know the most; 
The hero who is bravest may not make the 

loudest boast; 
The arm that is the strongest may not have 

the farthest reach, 
And the man who talks the longest may 

not have the finest speech. 

The rose that is the reddest may not have 
the sweetest scent; 

The man whose strut is proudest may not 
be most prominent; 

The woman who has jewels that she meas- 
ures by the peck 

May not have the slimmest fingers or the 
most delightful neck. 

The man who works the hardest may not 

draw the highest pav,; 
The one with deepst knowledge may not 

have the most to say; 
But the man who is the most modest gets 

the last seat in the rear, 
And the one who blows his bugle is the 

one whom people hear. 


A Sand Man comes in our tender years, 

From a healthful shore he hails; 
He softly creeps and he throws his grains 

When the daylight fades and fails. 
He blinds our eyes and we sail away, 

Away from the tiresome land. 
To voyage far on the pleasant sea 

When the Sand Man gets his sand. 

A Sand Man comes in our pride and 

From the Dead Sea shore he hails; 
He creeps and throwing his shining gold 

Our vision he swift assails. 
We shut our eyes and we sail away. 

Away from the happy land. 
To voyage far on the bitter sea 

Where the Sand Man gets his sand. 

y — ^McLandburgh Wilson, 

"Gleanings from the Gullies." 



By William B. Gray. 

The preacher in a village church one Sun- 
day morning said: 
*Our organist is ill today, will some one 

play instead?" 
An anxious look crept o'er the face of 

every person there, 
As eagerly they watched to see who'd fill 

the vacant chair; 
A man then staggered down the aisle 

whose clothes were old and torn, 
How strange a drunkard seemed to me in 

church on Sunday morn. 
But as he touched the organ-keys without 

a single word 
The melody that followed was the sweetest 

ever heard. , ,^ 

Chorus — 

The scene was one I'll ne'er forget as long 

as I may live, 
And just to see it o'er again all earthly 

wealth I'd give; 
The congregation, all amazed; the preacher 

old and gray; 
The organ, and the organist who volun. 

teered to play. 

Each eye shed tears within that church, 

the strongest men grew pale. 
The organist in melody had told his own 

life's tale; 
The sermon of the preacher was no lesson 

to compare 
With that of life 's example who sat in the 

organ chair; 
And when the service ended not a soul had 

left a seat 
Except the poor old organist who started 

toward the street. 
Along the aisle and out the door he slowly 

walked away. 
The preacher rose and spf tly said ' ' Good 

brethren, let us pray." 


With knees that were weary and cramped, 

And a sigh for her aching feet, 
A maiden limped, in a hobbled skirt, 

'Mid the throng in the crowded street, 
Hop, skip, hop, 

O'er sidewalk and gutter and dirt I 
And under her breath, in bitter tones, 

She sang the song of the skirt. 

'Tor the sake of a fad," she groaned, 

'Tull many a load we bear 
From the heels of our death-trap shoes 

To our mop of imported hair; 
But to all the faddist 's freaks. 

That bind and harrow and hurt, 
There has never been one by half so bad 

As the fad of the hobbled skirt! 

Hop, skip, jump5 i . 

As we dodge the automobiles! ' ' 

Hop, skip, jump, 

As we flee from the trolley's wheels! . 
Pain and discomfort and death! 

Death and discomfort and pain! 
And I sigh for the day when ruffles and 

Shall come into their own again!" 

— The Evening World, 



A bright young man was fond of booze ,^ 
He drank himself and friends to amuse,, 
And drank till all his ''tin" did ooze; ' 
Unfit for work, and so oft did snooze, 
That his employer "put on the screws." 
And he at last his job did lose. ,' 

He went in rags and soleless shoes; ' ' 

His face the Devil did awfully bruise. 
Opportunity bright he would not use. 
Preferring to join the chain.gang crews. 
The love of God he did abuse; 
Eejected salvation's Glorious News, 
A drunkard's grave and hell to choose: 
All for the love of that old blear-eyed 
boze. — A. H. T. 



Picked up Here and There.' ^ 


The smiles that made your life so bright 

In sunny fair and childhood's days, 
May lose their sweet and tender light, 

Ere many years have passed away, 
Her fond caress, her words so dear, 

That greeted you each night and mourn. 
May lose their sweet and joyous light. 

You'll miss your mother when she's 

Chorus — 

Then watch o 'er her with tender care, 

With kindness all her days adorn. 
No other love is half so dear; 

You'll miss your mother when she's 
' gone. 

She watched above your cradle-bed 

And taught your childish, prayer. 
Then never from her side be led. 

In age she needs your loving care. 
For one sweet mother heaven gives, 

And soon from earth she may be borne. 
Protect and love her while she's here, 

You'll miss your mohther when she's 


He stole a kiss; 
Said the pouting miss; 
^'For that you'll pay — 
On judgment day. ' ' 
^'By jinks," said he, 
^'If you'll trust me 
Till judgment day 

I'll steal some more. *"' 
And ere, they say, 
She slipped away, 

He stole a score. 


J. D. Alexander. 

What though the way be long and drear, 
And dark clouds 'round me linger near? 
A still small voice I ever hear 
That to me whispers, 'Do not fear, 
Sometime, somewhere, thou shalt find 

rest — 
Oh weary wanderer — with the blest; 
Keep on thy way, look up, not down. 
And thou shalt find thy home and crown, — 
Thy home where reigns eternal joy. 
And naught shall enter to annoy." 

Then why should I despondent be 
Since God, through love, hath promised me 
A home in which I shall have rest. 
And shall for evermore be blest! 
Or why should I desire to cling 
To things that leave a bitter sting, ' 
Since God sometime, somewhere will give 
A home with joy in which to live; — 
A home wher sorrows are forgot^ 
And Sin and Death shall enter not? 

What though forsaken I may be 

By friends whose love should shelter me. 

And I a wanderer far away. 

Where none but strangers bid me stay? 

It matters not, God will receive, 

So hath He said, and I believe; 

And when or where, it matters not. 

For I am sure I'm not forgot: 

Yea, I'm persuaded He'll provide 

A home where love and joy reside. 

The joy of every kiss is tinged with sad- 
ness for her by the haunting fear that 
some day his lips will be pressed as fondly 
against those of another woman. 

''^Gleanings from the Gullies/' 



(Sunset Magazine.) 

When I bin swimmin ' all dav long, 

An' had a fight or two, 
An' come home in the ev'nin' time 

A-feelin' mad and blue; 
There's just one thing that always seems 

My angry thoughts to smother; 
An' I fergit 'em when I see 

The smilin' face of mother. 

An' father sez when he comes home 

From troubles on the street; 
He sez that gentle smile, it makes 

The whole blame world look sweet. 
An' Carlo's dog talk sez so, too, 

An' so does sis and brother; 
I tell you they ain't nothin' like 

The smilin' face of^rmother. 
It kinder brightens every place, 

An' I know what I know, 
That when I die and go away — 

Coz we all have to go — 
I'll need one proof to show me where 

I'm at, don't need no other, 
I'll know it's heaven when I see 

The smilin ' face of mother. 

A treasure-house I find God's Word, with 

all its contents free; 
And, reaching forth, I take, and say, ''The 

Lord meant this for me. ' ' 
And for my faith what joys are given, true 

peace and love and life and heaven! 

I find God's Word a river deep, no ripple, 

yet a tide; 
I launch my bark and glide away, my 

Saviour e'er my guide; 
And sweet the comfort, sweet the rest, 

while sailing toward the haven 


—George Whitfield D 'Vys. 


When I get time — 

I know what I shall do: 
I'll cut the leaves of all my books 

And read them through and through. 

When I get time— 

I'll write some letters then 
That I have owed for weeks and weel^ 

To many, many men. 


A wondrous tree I find God's Word, and 

'neath it day by dfiy 
I take the fruit that gives me strength to 

bear me on life's way; 
A stately tree so large and tall there's 

■shelter, rest, and food for all. 

A telescope I find God's Word; and, be 

«kies dark or clear, 
This trusty instrument reveals God and my 

Saviour dear, 
While mirrored daily on my heart are 

splendorsr that can n^ 'ex depart. 

When I get time — 

I'll pay those calls I owe. 
And with those bills, those countless bills, 

I will not be so slow. 

When I get time — 

I'll regulate my life 
In such a way that I may get 

Acquainted with my wife. 

When I get time — 

Oh, glorious dream of bliss! 
A month, a year, ten years from now — 

But I can't finish this — 

I have no time. — Selected. 


I ( 

Picked up Here and There.'- 


Young and old you ought to know 
How children M'^ere raised fifty years ago 
Barefooted they would go to school 
To learn their books and obey the rule. 

When daylight came they rose from bed, 
They obeyed every word their parents said; 
To feed and milk they then were sent 
To obey all things they were intent. 

'They then were off, basket on arm, 
They said or done no one no harm, 
No tin buckets they had to tote — 

blue speller, sometimes no 

Two or three miles they had to walk, 

But lost no time in play or talk, 

But straightforward went with basket and 

To the old log school-house across the 


They hung their coats and shawls on pegs 
And went to the fire to warm feet and legs, 
Frostbitten feet, no shoes or socks, 
They wore homemade pants and homemade 

Then all would stand up in a ring, 
To spell by heart was a great big thing; 
To hear a hard word go all around. 
Whoever spelled it turned the others down. 

Then would come a short recess. 
To comb the hair and fix the dress. 
And then come in again to books. 
And greet the teacher with pleasant looks. 

Then the house did fairly roar, 

Large cracks in the side with only one 

But the scholars we called them in that 

Never went, out till the teacher would say: 

"Dismiss for dinner, get your bonnets and 

Eat your meals, play round town and eat;" 
No baseball bats were used them days,. 
But good amusing country plays.. 

Everything went lovely in them days,. 
Children were not allowed their ways, 
For when the teacher dismissed at night 
Every child pushed home with all Ms 

Ik) help their parents do up the things. 
While the voice of fowls and cattle rings^ 
Turkeys, geese and flocks of ducks. 
Guineas potrack and whippoorwills eliaek^ 

When all was fed, to the house they gof 
Where mother was working with cotton or 

To make her husband and children clothes. 
Till the clock struck ten, her wheel and 

cards goes. 

When Sunday came these boys and girls 
Dressed up, but had no bangs or curls, 
They went in plain old country style. 
And always met you with a smile. 

Then on the Sabbath, these plain folks all,.. 
Went without umbrella or parasol. 
Instruction from preachers they went ta 

From evil their lips they did refrain. 

When the preacher gave out the hymn to 

The log-house churches would fairly ring,. 
They stood up to sing and knelt to pray. 
In them good old bygone days. 

Oft times they'd get happy and shout 
And praise the Lord all along the route. 
Old time religion they did possess. 
And did not shout to show their dress. 

*^ Gleanings from the Gullies. 

' f 


No buggies or bicycles were used thoss 

But they rode to church in different ways, 
Some in wagons, some on horseback. 
But none were seen in a two-horse hack. 

They would hitch their horses in the shade, 
And their honest debts they kept them 

And I would have you all to plainly know 
That's the way things worked fifty years 


But what a change has taken place, 

In every home, in every place, 

At school, at church, in country, in town, 

It seems all things have turned around. 

You meet a boy on the street. 
Knee pants, plug hat, fine shoes on feet. 
Short dresses on girls you know it's so, 
It was not that way fifty years ago. 

You see them now with a satchel of books 
With proud and haughty and scornful 

The teacher's now they have no rules, 
Instead of manners, they're raised up 


About four hours is all they teach 
Per day; the poor they hardly ever reach. 
Once a day is about all they recite 
And dismiss two hours before 'tis night. 

And now when you go on preaching day 
To hear what the preacher has to say, 
Pride and the Devil comes in too 
And you hardly can get a pleasant pew. 

In the Amen corner you see a few 
All seated on a cushioned pew, 
I And when the preacher reads his song 
Then you hear this musical throng. 

When the song is sung the preacher will 

'^The congregation please stand and 

Oh! my, Oh! me, it was not so 
In the log house church fifty years ago. 

About the hour the service is o'er 
Then they make a rush for the door. 
Arm in arm, girls and boys 
Expressing their eccentric joys. 

If a person feels happy and wants to shout 
A Presbyterian will lead them out. 
You older people know it 's so, 
It was not done fifty years ago. 
The Baptists too, whenever they meet 
Have ceased to wash each others feet, 
The Methodists, last, but not the least, 
Hold no Class Meetings and Love Feast. 

Things now-a-days travel on by steam, 
Men ride on plows and guide the team, 
Electric cars and electric lights, 
And many curious, wonderful sights. 

To attract the attention of old and young, 
Of every land and every tongue. 
Old men and women you certainly know 
It was not that fifty years ago 

The people them days had good horse sense 
Used no barb wire to build a fence, 
But split the rails and ploughed their 
And did not tie their milk cows down. 

So now you see the way things goes, 
Children, better than grown folks, knows. 
They'll dispute your words, and you well 

They did not do it fifty years ago. 

I wrote this poem on Easter Day, 

While the little birds poured forth their 

April, Nineteen Hundred and One, 
The 7th day, I'm nearly done. 


( ( 

Picked itp Here and There." 

And now I hope all those who read 
These few verses will take heed 
To what old greyhead has to say 
About young folks having things their 

Behold what things have come to pass 
These days among the common class, 
As soon as children can lisp and walk 
They are first to the table and lead in talk. 

There they wring and twist about 
And almost run their parents out. 
When the meals are ready they rise and go, 
It was not thus fifty years ago. 

They think it manly to curse and swear, 
In the presence of mothers who have it to 

And gamble and drink you older ones know 
They did not do it fifty years years ago. 

And now if any one can add 
Anything to this poem I would be glad 
For people are changing every day, 
Each fellow wants everything in his way. 

The Almighty Dollar makes things go, 
If you have that you are Mister So-and-So, 
If you have it not, mark what I say. 
You son-of.a-gun, get out of the way. 

Money bribes the whole affair, 
From peasant to the millionaire, 
Lawyers, doctors, other professions too. 
It's not confined to just a few. 

So now I close, and ask you true. 

Does anything here not suit you, 

If what I have wrote you find not so 

Just say they knew nothing fifty years ago. 

So now I bid my readers adieu, 

Pay me a nickel and read it through, 

And if you are not satisfed. 

Just say the old man certainly lied. 

— G- D. STUTTS. 


(McCall's Magazine.) 

A litle fellow who had just felt the hard 
side of the slipper turned to his mother for 

*< Mother,** he asked, "did grandpa 
thrash father when he was a little boy?" 

'^Yes, " answered his mother, impres- 

"And did his father thrash him when he 
was little?" 


"And did his father thrash him?" 


A pause. 

"Well, who started this thing anyway?" 

When George M. Cohan was in the South 
not long ago, he stepped into a small 
church one Sunday morning where a new 
minister was delivering his first sermon. 
The sermon was eloquent and his prayers 
seemed to cover the entire category of 
human wants. The janitor was an old 
darkey whom Cohan knew very well. 

After the services as Cohan was com- 
ing out of the church he asked the old 
darkey what his opinion was of the new 

''Don't you think he offers up a fine 
prayer, Eb?" asked Cohan. 

"Ah mos' surtainly do, sir," replied the 
old fellow, "Why that man axed de good 
Lord fo' things dat de odder preacher 
didn't even know He had!" 


Peggy — Only to think of it, my dear, we 
were entirely alone, and he had the audac- 
ity to kiss me. 

Lucy — I suppose you were furious; 
weren't you? 

Peggy — I should say so! I was furious 
every single time he did it. 


Gleanings from the Gullies.'' 



In a path that leads down by the old mill 
Two sweethearts were standing one day; 
The youth vowed his love would never 
But would live in his heart always. 

The maid says^ ''Oh, why do you choice 

me Jack? 
There are other girls just like me." 
But the answer he gave was a. sweetheart 

kiss, ' 

And he whispered so tenderly. 

Chorus — 

''If all the girls were like you. 
This world would be paradise; ' 

I seem to see a soul so sweet 
When I gaze into your eyes." 


The time has come good people, 
So why not make a start; 

Just give your lives to Jesus, 

That He may cleanse your heart. 

He's promised in His word, 
And that you plainly see — 

"I will not cast you out, 
If you will come to me. ' ' 

Just hear Him say to Zaccheus, 
"Make haste and come down; 

I will abide with thee 

While I 'm on this round. ' ' 

So Zaccheus stood that day; 

He spoke these words so bold ; 
"If I have wronged anyone, 

I restore him four-fold. ' ' 

"To me you are an angel, 

Sent her from Heaven above; 
If all the girls were like you, 
You would still be the girl I love." 

60 that day Zaccheus took 
The Saviour home with him; 

The pitcher was filled with water. 
Yes, filled up to the brim. 

In a church that stands down by the old 

mill stream. 
An old fashioned wedding took place. 
With a stalwart youth and a handsome 

As he gazed on her beautiful face. 

— Chorus. 

While gently his arm stole 'round her 
She whispered with down cast e^yes: 
"You'll fall in love with some girl like 



But this was his honest reply: 

— Chorus. 

So Zaccheus he got ready, 

He crossed old Jordan's tide, 

And said to wife and children: 
"With us He doth abide, 

"We are on our way to Heaven, 
I'm glad this way we've found; 

Oh, Hallelujah, to Jesus, 

I 'm walking on higher ground. 

"So when we reach the city, 
We'll walk the golden street, 

With our blessed Eedeemer, 

Who made our souls complete." 

—J. C. S. 



Picked up Here and There.'' 


When you are all alone, and feeling 

kinder bad, 
Remember there is one that can make you 

Just put your trust in Him, I'm speaking 

very plain. 
He'll drive away the gloom, and relieve 

the pain. 

There a,re people in this world, who need 

a word or song, 
To make them start to think, ^'Well, I 

am doing wrong, 
I have lived a sinner, I know I've not 

done right, 
Hut now I have decided to join you in this 

fight. ' ' 

I know the Lord is calling for me and all 

the rest 
To stop our sinful ways, that we may be 

So farewell baseball playing, and the 

movies too, 
I'm out and out for Jesus and I am going 


Now listen parents, will you? to what I 

have to say. 
Our children and our neighbors are on the 

downward way; 
I ask this question plainly, it's up to me 

and you: 
With our neighbors and children, what are 

we going to do? 

I'll tell you what we need, and you all 

know it's true; 
We need the old time power that took our 

parents through. 
So let us come together and one another 

That we may have this power that comes 

down from above. 

Then we'll be in sympathy, with those 
who are' cast down; 

Our smiles will make them happy and take 
away the frown, 

Then we'll join together and make the 
music ring. 

With alto, base and tenor to our Heaven- 
ly King. 

Then when we reach the city eternity to 

We'll sing the song of redemption, where 

time will never end. 
So remember what I've wrote, don't put 

it off too late. 
If you do you'll go below to share the 

awful fate. 

—J. C. S. 


There is a boarding house 

Not far away 
Where they have ham and eggs 

Three times a day. 
O, how the boarders shout 
When they bring the jewels out, 
How things have turned about ^ 

Three times a day! 

There's not a room to let 

Try as you may; 
It's an exclusive set. 

Three times a day. 
0, how the table rings 
When they serve those tempting things, 
Fit now for queens and kings, 

Three times a day! 

How it is ever done 

No one can say; 
Think how the bill must run 

Three times a day! 
Eggs sell at forty cents, 
All meat bills are immense; 
My, ain't it opulence. 

Three times a day! 

— St. Louis Post-Dispatch. 


Gleanings from the Gullies.'' 



I hate to read of millionaires, 

Because such reading seems 
To hypnotize me utterly 

And start me dreaming dreams. 
How many times I 've figured out 

What I'd be apt to do 
If I were in that fellow's place 

And had a; million, too. 
Of course, IM use my fortune well, 

More sensibly than he 
For I'd give ten per cent, at least, 

To worthy charity. 
Another ten per cent would go 

To help along a few 
Of our deserving relatives 

Whose l^ills are overdue. 
And then my duty to the church; 

Of course a goodly share — 
Say, twenty-five per cent or so — 

Would be devoted there. 
I'd give this latter quietly. 

Insisting that my name, 
Must be withheld, that none might know 

Whence this donation came. 
I'd only let the pastor know — 

He'd have to know, you see — 
Hecause my name upon the check 

Would show it was from me. 
Another twenty-five per cent 

Would do myself and wife; 
The income we 'd derive from that 
Would keep us both for life. 
Then, after that — well, after that 

I dream away and plan 
To spend still other ten per cents, 

To help my fellow man. 
And finally my dreaming gets 

A bit confused and then 
I take a tumble and my feet 

Touch solid earth again; 
And common sense assures me, as 

It stops me with a jerk, 
I've wasted time enough to do 

A dollar's worth of work. 


A well intentioned friend of mine, 

Came blithely to me. 
He had a burden on his heart 

As any one could see. 

'^I notice you are thin and lean 
And scared with worldly care; 

Why don't you sleep out on the porch 
And breathe the fresh night air?" 

And so I slept out on the porch 

As you can plainly see — 
And if you contemplate the same, 

O pray you look at me! 

An hour or two I gazed on high 

Enraptured by a star. 
Then slumbered just in time to be 

Awakened by a car. 

Again I dozed a wink or two, 
Then awakened with a start, 

A drunken man was asking me 
''Where is the water cart?" 

And just as I dropped off again, 
To dream of pumpkin pies. 

Next door some serenaders sang 
''Drink to me with thine eyes." 

They quit at 3 a. m. and I 

Sighed, "That's the last of that," 

Alas! my trusting, guileless heart 
Had quite forgot the cat. 

At 4:00 a. m. the sun arose 

And smote nay dreaming bean. 

He sat down on the porch with me 
And tickled up my spleen. 

The ice man came in at 5 a. m., 

And told me it was hot 
And said the breweries might fail 

Bv noon as like as not. 



PicJced up Here and There.' ^ 

At 6 the youngster bounded out 

And asked me how I felt; 
T grabbed a loose suspender up 

And walloped him a welt. 

— St. Paul Dispatch. 


At length we have settled a pastor; 

I am sure I can't tell why 
The people should grow so restless 

Or candidates grow so shy; 
But after a two years ' searching 

For the ' ' smartest ' ' man in the land 
In a fit of desperation 

We took the nearest at hand. 

And really he answers nicely 

To ''fill the gap," you know, 
To run the machine and ''bring up 
arrears ' ' 

And make things generally go; 
iHe has a few little failings, 

His sermons are commonplace quite, 
But his manner is very charming, 

And his teeth are perfectly white. 

Wanted — a thoroughbred worker 

Who well to her household looks 
(Shall we see our money wasted 

By extravagant, ignorant cooks?)' 
Who cuts the daily expenses 

With economy sharp as a knife 
And washes and scrubs in the kitchenj 

Wanted — A Minister's Wife. 

A very ' ' domestic person. ' ' 

To callers she must not be "out,"" 
It has such a bad appearance 

For her to be gadding about; 
Only to visit the parish 

Every year of her life 
And attend the funerals and weddings j 

Wanted — A Minister 's Wife, ' 

To conduct the "ladies' meeting," 

The "sewing-circle" attend. 
And when we "work" for the soldiera 

Her ready assitance lend. 
To clothe the destitute children - 

Where sorrow and want are rife, 
And look up Sunday-school scholars^ 

Wanted — A Minister's Wife. 

And so of all the "dear people" ' 

Not one in a hundred complains, 
For beauty and grace of manner 

Are so much better than brains; 
But the parish have all concluded 

He needs a "partner for life." 
Please notice our advertisement, 

"Wanted — A Minister's Wife." 

Careful to entertain strangers. 

Traveling agents and ' ' such, ' ' 
Of this kind of "angel visits" 

The deacons have had so much • 

As to prove a perfect nuisance 

And ' ' hope these plagues of their life- 
Can be sent to the parson's; 

Wanted — ^A Minister's Wife. 

Wanted — a perfect lady. 

Delicate, gentle, refined, 
With every beauty of person 

And every endowment of mind; 
Fitted by early culture 

To move in fashionable life. 
To shine a gem in the parlor; 

Wanted — A Min,ister's Wife. 

A perfect pattern of prudence 

Than all others spending less^. 
But never disgracing the parish' 

By looking shabby in dress; 
Playing the organ on Sunday 

Would aid our laudable strife^. 
To save the society money; 

Wanted — A Minister's Wife„ 


Gleanings from the Gullies.' ' 


And when we have found the person 

We hope by wovkir.t^ the two 
To lift our debt and build a new church, 

Then we shall know what to do, 
For they will be worn and weary, 

Needing a change of lifo, 
And we advertise — Wanted, 

A Minister and his Wife. 

Always singing of Jesus, singing the live 

•long day; 
Always singing of Jesus, treading the 

narrow way; 
Always singing of Jesus Jesus of Galilee; 
Always singing of Jesus, Jesus who died 

for me. 

Chorus — 

Singing, singing the live long day, 
Singing, walking the narrow way; 
Singing, praising Him more and more. 
Always singing of Jesus, whom I adore. 

Always singing of Jesus, joy of the con- 
trite, heart; 

Always singing of Jesus, chosing the bet_ 
ter part; 

Always singing of Jesus, fountain of life 
to me; ^ 

Always singing of Jesus, light of Eternity. 

Always singing of Jesus, telling Him all 

my grief; 
Always singing of Jesus, He is a sure 

Always singing of Jesus, singing whatever 

Always singing of Jesus, Shepherd and 

faithful Guide. 


A thick hide may be good for an ele- 
phant or a politician, but it never could 
help an honest man. 

Don't worry — unless you are an unmar- 
ried woman of 35 or more. 

Strange how some men will put a dis- 
honest dollar in a barrel of honest dollars 
quicker than they will put a rotten apple 
in a barrel of good apples. 

Do it now — tomorrow some one else 7nay 
have done it and collected the pay. 

I like the truth simply because the truth 
always has been my unfailing friend. 

We hear a good deal about the Almighty 
Dollar, but ther isn't anything almighty 
about the dollar — it can't even buy you a 
new conscience, to say nothing of a seat 
in heaven. 

Do not try to find fault with your fel- 
low man, but try to correct your own. 


John Hay. 

The following is John Hay's most fam- 
ous poem. It is a more general favorite 
than ieven ''Jim Bludsoe. " , These verses 
are included in the ''Pike County Bal- 
lads." They show Mr. Hay as a master 
of pathos and as possessed of a genius 
not excelled by that of Bret Harte's, for 
reproducing the racy dialect and thought 
of the West: 

I don't know much on religion, 

I never ain't had no show; 
But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir. 

On the handful o ' things I know. 
I don 't pan out on the prophets. 

And free.will, and that sort of thing, — - 
But I b'lieve in God and the angels. 

Ever sence one night last spring. 



Picked up Here and There/' 

T come into town with some turnips, 

And my little Gabe eome along, — 
No four-year old in the county 

Could beat him for pretty and strong, 
Peart and chipper and sassy, 

Always ready to swear and fight, — 
And I'd larnt him to chaw terbacker 

Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. 

The snow come down like a blanket , 

As I passed by Taggart's store; 
1 went in for a jug of molasses, 

And left the team at the door; 
They seared at something and started, — 

I heard one little squall, 
And hell-to-split over the prairie 

Went team. Little Breeches and all. 

Hell-to-split over the prairie! 

I was almost froze with skeer; 
But we rousted up some torches. 

And sarched for 'em far and near. 
At last we struck hosses and wagon, 

Snowed under a soft white mound, 
Upsot, dead beat, — but of little Gabe 

No hide nor hair was found. 
And here all hope soured on me 

Of my fellow.critter's aid, — 
I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones. 

Crotch-deep* in the snow, and prayed. 

By this, the torches was played out, 

And me and Isrul Parr 
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold 

That he said was somewhar thar. 

We found it at last, and a little shed 

Where they shut up the lambs at night, 
We looked in and seen them huddled thar, 

So warm and sleepy and white; 
And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped, 

As peart as ever you see, 
''I want a chaw of terbacker. 

And that's what's the matter of me." 


By Joseph Hopkinson 

Hail Columbia! happy land! 

Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band! 

Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, 

Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, 

And when the storm of war was gone, 

Enjoyed the peace your valor won. 

Let independence be your boast. 

Ever mindful what it cost; 

Ever grateful for the prize. 

Let its altar reach the skies. 

Chorus — 

Firm, united, let us be, 
Eallying round our Liberty; 
As a band of brothers joined. 
Peace and safety we shall find. 

Immortal patriots! rise once more; 
Defend your rights, defend your shore, 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand. 
Invade the shrine where sacred lies 
Of toil and blood the well earned prize, 
While offering peace, sincere and just, 
In heaven we place a manly trust, 
That truth and justice will prevail, 
And every scheme of bondage faiL 

Sound, sound the trump of fame! 

Let Washington's great name 

Eing thro' the world with loud applause, 

Eing thro' the world with laud applause; 

Let every clime to freedom dear 

Listen with a joyful ear. 

With equal skill, and Godlike power, 

He governs in the fearful hour 

Of horrid war, or guides with ease 

The happier time of honest peace. 


Gleanings from the Gullies^ 


Behold the chief who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands! 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
The rock on which the storm will beat, 
But armed in virtue, firm and true. 
His hopes are fixed on heaven and vou. 
When hope was sinking in dismay, 
When glooms obscured Columbia's day, 
His steady mind, from changes free, 
Eesolved on death or liberty. 


Justice Fines Tramp $50 for Playing Cards 

in a Church During Service — Then 

Remits the Entire Fine. 

. At Sunday service in one of our churches 
recently a tramp was seen to pull a pack 
<'f cards out of his pocket and spreading 
them out on the seat beside him, apparent, 
ly for the purpose of playing a game of 
solitaire, he was immediately arrested and 
locked up until Monday morning, then 
brought before a Justice of the Peace. 

"Well, sir, what have you to say for 
3'ourself ?" 

^'jMuch, sir, I hope." 

"Yery good; if not, I will punish you 
severely. ' ' 

"I have been about six weeks on the 
road; I have not a Bible nor common 
prayer book; I have nothing but a pack 
of cards, and I hope to satisfy your honor 
of the purity of my intentions. ' ' 

Then spreading the cards before the 
Court he began with the ace. 

' ' When I see the ace it reminds me that 
there is but one God. 

' ' When I see the deuce it reminds me 
of the Father and the Son. 

''When I see the trey it reminds of the 
Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 

''When I see the four it reminds me of 
the four Evangelists that preached — 
Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. 

"When I see the five it reminds me of 
the five wise virgins that trimmed their 
lamps. There were ten, but five were wise 
and five were foolish and were shut out. 

"When I see the six it reminds me that 
in six days the Lord made the Heaven and 

"When I see the seven it reminds me 
that on the seventh day God rested from 
the great work which He had made and 
hallowed it. 

"When I see the eight it reminds me 
of the eight righteous persons that were 
saved when God destroyed the world, viz., 
Noalj and his wife and their three sons 
and their wives. 

"When I see the nine it reminds me of 
the nine lepers which were cleansed by our 
Saviour. There were nine out of ten that 
never returned thanks. 

"When I see the ten it reminds me of 
the ten comandments which God handed 
down to Moses on the table of stone. 

"When I see the king it reminds me of 
the great King of Heaven, which is God 

"When I see the queen it reminds me 
of the Queen of Sheba, who visited Sol- 
omon, for she was as wise a woman as he 
was a man. She brought with her fifty 
boys and fifty girls, all dressed in boys' 
apparel, for King Solomon to tell which 
were boys and which were girls. The king 
sent for some water for them to wash. The 
girls washed to the elbows and the boys to 
the wrists; so King Solomon told by that. '^ 

"Fifty dollars fine," shouted the Justice 
in all his indignation, then started to leave 
the room, but suddenly halted, twirled his 


'^Picked tip Here and There." 

mustache, and seemed to be in a deep 
study. Turning to the tramp, he said se- 
verely, ''You have described every card 
in the pack except one." 

''What is that?" 

"The knave," replied the Justice. 
' ' I will give your honor a description of 
that, too, if you will not be angry." 

"I will not," said the Justice, " if you 
will not term me to be the knave." 

' ' The greatest knave I know is the po- 
liceman who brought me here." 

"I don't know if he is the greatest 
knave, bat I know he is the greatest fool," 
said the Court. 

"When I count how many spots there 
are in a pack and a half of cards, I find 
three hundred and sixty-five, as many as 
there are days in a year. 

"When I count the number of cards in 
a pack, I find fifty-two, representing the 
number of weeks in a year. 

"I find there are twelve picture cards 
in a pack, representing the number of 
months in a year, and on counting the 
tricks I find thirteen, the number of weeks 
in a quarter. 

' ' So you see^ a pack of cards serves for 
a Bible, Almanac and Common Prayer 
Book. ' ' 

The Justice's face wore a smile, and 
turning to the tramp again, said: "Don't 
let this happen a:gain, but for your ingeni- 
ous description I will remit your fine. ' ' 


"What's the matter!" he asked. 

• "Oh, I feel blue," she replied. "No_ 
body loves me and my hands are cold." 

"You should not say that," was his 
word of consolation, "for God loves you, 
and your mother loves you, and you can 
sit on your hands." — Success. 

He was very bashful and she tried to 
make it easy for him. They were driving 
along the seashore and she became silent 
for a time. 


By H. A. Brown. 

Jesus said, "Peace I leave with you. '^ 

What a priceless legacy He has left us I 

Peace for the mind — peace for the heart 
— peace for the conscience. 

Peace like the sweet music through the 
morning hours — peace at noon like the soft 
shadows resting on the green grass — ^peace 
at sunset like the infant's sleep on the 
patient mother's breast. 

Peace like the calm in the deep bosom 
of the ocean when storms break on the 

Peace that cannot be weighed in bal- 
ances or measured in vessels or counted in 
numerals — peace that lights up the coun- 
tenance — reigns like a queen in the soul 
and makes melodious our poor human 

Peace that grows beautiful and abundant 
like the shining river — the deep fathomless 
peace of God! 

Dear Saviour, let us realize this peace 
when the shadows grow long and the bur- 
dens seem heavy to weary failing feet! 
"When peace like a river attendeth my 

When sorrows, like sea billows, roll; 
Whatever my lot thou hast taught me to 
It is well, it is well, with my soul." 


Gleanings from the Gullies. 




By Anna Carter. 

Very weary one evening I retired to 
rest, and had a beautiful dream in which 
T saw the liquor traffic crushed out of ex- 
istence. It was this way: I saw printed 
in bold type at the beginning of the first 
column of every newspaper in the world, 
certain statements and questions. They 

were printed week after week and in that 
way they were planted in the minds of 
all intelligent persons, whether they meant 
them to be or not, and thus a mental vote 
was taken without regard to age or sex. 
' This continued until the electrical power 
of concentrated* thought became so intense 
tliat no one could run a saloon. 

The impression has deepened that God 
gave me this dream for a purpose, and 
that you are the one that can make the 
ideal a reality. For this purpose I submit 
it for your consideration, praying that you 
may be guided by divine wisdom. This is 
what I saw, standing at the head of the 
first column of every newspaper in the 

''The saloon is the product of Satanic 
thought, expressed in human action at the 
ballot box. 

''It can only live by the destruction of 
human beings. 

' ' It will go by Christian thought ex- 
pressed at the ballot box. 

' ' When, will depend upon the individual 
answers to the following questions: 

' ' 1. Do I want a saloon to destroy me, 
or any of mine? 

"2. Do I want it to destroy any one 
else ? 

"3. Will I consent by silence, thought, 
word or ballot to the continuance of the 

"4. If I consent by silence, thought, 
word or ballot to the continuance of the 
t'Mlofii, whar. srsin-ance hnve I, that L, or 
some of mine will not be among its vic- 


That is the question that everybody is 
asking today. The Church is in trouble 
and is about to be stung, ard will be if 
someone does not kill the deadly snake of 
worldliness that is curled around it. 

Broad-gage preachers are allowing such 
broad-gage people to join the Church that 
you cannot tell the Christians from the 
worldly-minded. Style and greed are two 
sisters that are helping Mr. Snake to kill 
the Church. Church Suppers and bazaars 
are causing the '^Church to forget that 
Christ drove the money-changers out of 
the Temple. The Church was once a place 
of prayer and fasting. It is no^^ a place 
of fun and feasting. The women want to 
rule, and the men are too cold to care. 
Preachers are afraid to tell the truth to 
their congregations, and the love of money 
rules day. 

What Will Kill the Snake? 

Straight preaching at everything in 
sight. Tell the women the place God has 
made for her. Wake up the sleeping men 
and clean out the old hypocrites. Preach 
straight at every man and woman in the 
Church that is not obeying the laws of 
God. The ministers must stop patronizing 
the theatres and preaching in them. Have 
no fellowship with works of darkness. Do 
not go hand and glove with the Devil. 


"Piched ivp Here and There." 

Vote for Christian people to hold office. 
Vote a straight ticket for the Lord. Show 
no quarter, ask none of the enemies of 
God's Cause. 

Show your colors at all times — that kills 
the Snake. 


She was a woman^ old and thin, whom 
the world condemned for a single sin. 
They cast her out on the king's highway, 
and passed her by as they went to pray. 
He was a man and more to blame, but the 
world spared a breath of shame. Beneath 
his feet he saw her lie, but he raised his 
head and passed her by. They were the 
people that went to pray, at the temple of 
God on the holy day. They scorned the wo- 
man, forgave the man; 'twas ever thus 
since the world began. 

Time passed on and the woman died; on 
cross of shame she was crucified. The 
world was stern and would not yield, and 
they buried her in the potter's field. The 
man died too, and they buried him in a 
casket of cloth, with a silver brim, and 
as they turned from the grave said, '^we 
buried a noble man today.." 

Two mortals knocked at Heaven's gate 
— stood face to face to inquire their fate. 
He carried a passport with an earthly sign, 
but she a pardon from love divine. O ye 
who judge 'twix love and vice which, 
think ye, entered Paradise? Not he whom 
the world has said would win, but the 
woman alone was ushered in. — Exchange. 


Much good may be done if you are will- 
ing to devote a little time to it. A five- 
cent writing tablet and a penny pencil will 
do wonders. I know an ungrateful daugh. 
Un- who has not written to her mother for 
three years. She is absorbed in her own 
household cares. Here is a chance to cheer 
a fellow-being — the field is white, ready 
for the harvesters. A loving letter to one 
who has buried his dead will comfort. Jn_ 
^mlids are made happy by kind letters, for 
in some places the neighbors are not 

friendly. Sometimes children are wayward, 
and mothers will walk the floor weeping in 
anguish of spirit; you can comfort them 
with a little loving note. Fathers have 
sons in prison; a kind word of sympathy 
does not require much effort. Three or 
four times a year I devote some time to 
these '^love letters." I like best to cheer 
the aged and neglected. 

An old lady said, ' ' Oh, it is my delight 
to receive letters; just think of it, I got 
five this week — from my son in the regular 
army, from the two 'girls,' one from you 
and Nelson." 




By G. D. Stutts, Burlington, N. C. 

You may travel from the torrid to the 

frigid zone. 
You will never meet another like Caesar 

Cone — 
A man of wealth and feeling heart 
That shares with his employes and their 



Gleanings from the Gullies.'' 


When first he came to Greensboro town 
Things took a sudden turn the suburbs 

And through that energetic man 
Was devised a wonderful plan. 

Where once did cry the whip-poor-wills 
He has erected three cotton mills — 
First, Proximity, of prodigious size, 
Then Eevolution, before our eyes! 

Lastly of all, the great White Oak, 
Largest of all, it ain't no joke — 
You hear it spoken by every mouth — 
They are the finest equipped in the South. 

The boulevards are kept so neat, 
To every observer it is a treat; 
And concrete walks on every side, 
And electric lights your feet to guide. 

Improvements daily he is making. 
For your comfort, pains is taking, 
Artesian water will soon supply 
Each and all familes, wet or dry. 

One thing more and then I close, 
Your wages are good as all hands knows; 
Treats he gives each Christmas day, 
Which drives dull care and pain away. 

Another I'll mention, you cannot deny. 
He treats you the Fourth of every July. 
Let us pause for a moment to thank, now 

and then. 
And welcome among us such free-hearted 



They say! — ah, well, suppose they do! 
But can they prove the story true 
Why count yourself among the ' ' they ' ' 
Who whisper what they dare not say? 
Suspicion may arise from naught. 
But malice, envy, wan; of thoughl. 

And help to make the matter worse. 
No good can possibly accrue 
From telling what may be untrue? 

And as it is not a nobler plan 
To speak of all the best you can? 

They say — well, if it should be so, , 
Why need you tell the tale of woe. 
And it the better wrong redress. 
Or make one pang of sorrow less, 
Will it the erring one restore. 
Henceforth to ''go and sin no more?" 

They say — Oh, pause and look within, 
See how thy heart inclines to sin; 
And lest in dark temptation's hour 
Thou, too, shouldst sink beneath its power, 
Pity the frail, weep o'er their fall. 
But speak of good or not at all. 


''There's nothing like experience," sai(I 
Captain Eobert C. Warr of the Campania, 
who has retired from sea life after forty- 
nine years' service. "When the young 
and enthusiastic and bold sneer at the 
caution of old age, I think of the two 

'Look at that beautiful woman in the 
cornfield there!" a young crow cried. 

" 'Beautiful woman! Nonsense!' retort-, 
ed the old bird. 'That's a scarecrow,' 

" 'But how do you know it's a scared- 

' ' ' Because there 's no man about. Do> 
you suppose a beautiful woman would loaf 
all day long in one place if there wasn't a 
man somewhere near to admire herj" 

" 'I'm sure it's a ueautiful won-au, * in- 
sisted the young crow. 'And there, too, is 
ft man's figure behind tli3 oak. I'm going 
over to size her up. ' 

"And the young crow flew off, and a guB 
banged, and a few minutes later he cam© 
limping back with a broken wing and a 
hole in his leg, 

" 'Aha,' sneered the old crow, 'you 
youngsters are all alike — think you know 
more about women than your elders!' " 



Picked up Here and There.' ^ 


A litle giil traveling in a sleeping car 
with her parents greatly objected to being 
put in an upper berth, says the Kansas 
City Star. She was assured that papa, 
mamma and God would watch over her. 
She was settled in the berth at last and 
the passengers were quiet for the night 
when a small voice piped: 


''Yes, dear." 

".You there?" 

"Yes, I'm here. Now go tc sleep." 

"Papa, you there!" 

"Yes, I'm here. Go to sleep like a good 
girl. ' ' 

This continued at intervals for some 
time, until a fellow passenger lost patience 
aiul called: 

"We're all here. Your father and 
mother and brothers and sisters, and 
uncles and aunts and first cousins. All 
here. Now go to sleep!" 

There was a brief pause after this ex- 
plosion. Then the tiny voice piped up 
again, but very softly ; 


' ' Well. ' ' 

"Was that God?" 


By V. M. Hatfield. 

Smile when you're all alone; smile in a 

Smile awhile softly, then out loud. 
Smile from your brow to the point of your 

Smile on the outside, and then smile in. 

Smile when the sun shines; smile when it 

Smile in the meadows; smile through the 

Let other people grumble and revile; 
Just keep feeling good and keep that 


Smile, when you've roast beef; smile when 

it's hash. 
Smile when your business is going tp 

Smile when you can't have things your 

Smile when you're singing and smile while 

you pray. 

Smile when you have no work to do. 
Smile when you have so much you can't 

get through, 
Maybe your best coat's way out of style — 
Go in shirt sleeves but wear that smile. 

Smile by a fixed rule; smile off-hand, 
Smile when you can't even understand. 
Smile like a hen determined to set. 
Smile like a race horse winning a bet. 

Every time dyspepsia makes an attack 
Smile like a jester and drive it back. 
Beats all the doctors' seventeen mile. 
Quit taking a physic and take a smile. 

Smile life-size if you 're a married man. 
If you're a bachelor smile if you can. 
Smile at a funeral — don't disgrace 
Even a dead man by making a face. 

Maybe that scowl has grown on tight, 
Dislocate your features and set them right. 
Smooth out the wrinkles, get rid of your 

bile ; 
Everybody loves you when you smile. 


Annabel Lee 6 

A Little Pilgrim 7.9 

A Eailroad Man 's Prayer 13-14 

A Tramp 's Eloquent Lecture 27-28 

After the Ball 40 

A Mirage 45 

A Voice from the Poorhouse 45-46 

A Woman 's Story 47 

At Night 51-52 

A Drummer 's Dream 66-67 

A Little Child Shall Lead Them 68-69 

A Prayer 76-77 

According to Precedent 78 

A Eecitation 81 

Answer These Four Questions 93 

Beautiful Hands 9 

Brush Off Your Own Doorsteps 18 

Beautiful Snow 28-29 

Blind Girl 's Death, The 30 

Burlington Chips 32 

Bald Headed Man, The 33-34 

Boys Keep Away from the Girls 37 

Burlesque on Professional Men . : 37-38 

Babes in the Woods, The 53-55 

Big Falls Hymn 61 

Booze ' 79 

Beloved 92 

Christ 's Lilies 9 

Come Home, Father 22-23 

Carry Me Back to Old Virginia 35 

Cheer Up 50 

Contrasts 60 

Clear Sky Lines 89 

Drunkard's Soliloquy, The 10 

Dear Heart . 20 

Down by the Banks of the Eosa 39-40 

Dried Apple Pies 41 

Down by the Old Mill Stream So 

Dreaming 87 

Express to Sleep Town, The 55 

Extended Credit 80 

Experience Teaches , ... 95 

Farewell Old Home IS-l:') 

Fatal Wedding, The • • l1-22 

Factory Ehyme, A 26-27 

Fifty Years Ago 41 

Fifty Cents ] 41-42 

Face on the Floor, The , -12-44 

Four Essentials 50 

I'irst Mortgage, The . 57-58 

Flowers Will Come in May, The 62 

I'ellowship , 72 

i'or Love 's Sake 75 

Fined Pifty Dollars . 91-92 

Great Lake Eailroad 14 

Grandfather 's Clock 25 

Good Old Summer Time 64 

God Is Love 58 

Hoodoo Coin, A 10 

Home, Sweet Home 23-24 

Ho, For Carolina 24 

Home in Mother 's Absence 27 

How to Live ( . . . 52 

Helpful Thoughts 69 

Hobble Skirt, The - 79 

Hail Columbia 90-91 

In the Baggage Coach Ahead 6-7 

I '11 Eemember You, My Love, in My Prayers 20 

I'll Be All Smiles Tonight 23 

I 'se 'Gwine Back to Dixie 36 

If 51 

Just as the Sun Went Down 11 

Just for Today 56 

Just Set a Light 71 

Just Drop a Line to Mother 73 

John T. Pullen 70 

Just Smile 96 

Kiss Me Mother, etc 17-18 

Kitty Wells 34-35 

Knowledge . . 62 

'Lesson in Mo<lern Life ... , -...,.... ■. . . 49 

Little Breeches . 89-90 

ILittle Love Tokens 94 

Model Churchy The 5 

Mother 17-18 

Memory of Jeruslia Stutts 3H 

Mother's Good Bye 47-48 

My School 65 

Mother 's Way in 

Make Others Hapx3y 74 

Mary and Willie • • 75-76 

Man and His Shoes 77 

JMother . 81 

Naomi Wise , . . , . ^ , -. . 31 

New Version ....,........>...... 86 

On the Banks of the Wabash ,.,...... 13 

Original Dixie •..-..... 1-5 

Old Cottage Home — 15-16 

Orphan Oirl, The -. 19-20 

Old Cabin Home 21 

Old Oaken Bucket , 25-26 

Only Been Down to the Club 36 

Omissions 71-72 

Operatives of Proximity^ Eevolution, etc 94-95 

Put Your Trust in Him 86 

Plea for Factory People 12-13 

Put My Little Shoes Away 22 

Peace .' , 49 

Pa 's Uncle Joe 55-56 

Eock of Ages . , 64-65 

Eemembrance 74 

Eosa O 'Grady , 36 

St. Peter at the Gatt. , 16-17 

Sweet Marie 31-42 

Shadows on the Wall ^ 48 

Stray Shots 49 

Simple Questions . 52 

Sand Man, The . 78 

Sometime, Somewhere 80 

Truth 14 

The Tramp 29-30 

Tliat Car ., 32: 

Take Back Your Gold ^ 38-39 

Two Little Girls in Blue 40 

The New Name 47 

The Saloon Bar ^ 48 

The Eed Cross Man 49^ 

Things That Abide . . . , 50* 

The World 's Creditor ^.. . 52' 

The Transgressor .,.,.. 55 

'The Female of the Species 63' 

Temperahee Addition 63-64 

Time Brings Chang^es , , , •. . ., . 67' 

The Church / 70' 

Twenty Years Ago , . 70-71 

The Telephone Girl ^ 72* 

The Wise One , , . . 76 

The Fool 's Prayer , 77 

The Volunteer Organist 79 

The Wise Choice .. . . , 85 

Things You Should Know 82-84 

The Fresh Air , 87 

Th« Legacy of Peace 92" 

The Two Sinners ^. ^ 94 

The^' Say 95 

The Last Word , 9^ 

A^illage Blacksmith, The , 11-12 

What a Boy Could Do 11 

Where Is My Boy Tonight 1 II 

When You and I Were Young ,.,.,, 21 

What Caused the Hard Times? , 32-33 

A¥ait 'Till the Clouds Roll By 35 

Washerwoman ^s Song, The . , 44 

W^ishing , . , , , . . 52 

What Have We Bone Todayf 57 

What Matters Itl 58 

When First I Heard of Holiness 59 

When It Gets Dry in Kansas 60 

What 's Coming to You? 78 

When I Get Time 81 

Who Started Itf 84 

Wanted— A Minister 's Wife . 88-89 

What Is the Matter With the Church 93 

You '11 Miss Your Mother When She 's Gone 80 


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